Lovely
by gothamcitysyren
Summary: PREQUEL TO BLOOD ON HER LIPS. Patricia Pennyworth, adopted daughter of Alfred, took on the role of Black Sparrow to join the ranks of Batman's vigilante escapades. When Dick Grayson hit an identity crises and left the Manor, Bruce wasted no time in finding a replacement - Jason Todd. Now Trish must deal with the new family dynamics and the loss of her only brother. • Pre-season 1 •
1. Pistachio Gelato

I crossed my legs, adjusting my position on the sofa. Bruce's eyes were on me—I could feel them, but I did not look. Instead I was glaring holes into the side of the stranger's head, the stranger sitting three feet to my left.

I'd been told his name but I refused to utter it. Finally, I turned my head to reposition my heated glare. It landed on Bruce's face seconds before I uttered the words, "This is a sick joke."

"No joke," Bruce shook his head calmly. "We need to get back to business as usual."

"And if Dick comes home?" I questioned, raising a brow.

"He won't. We're wasting our time waiting. The only thing we can do is move on with our lives."

Moving my eyes to my lap, I scowled, "He only left because of _you_."

"What did you just say?"

Bruce's voice was low, and I knew then i'd pissed him off. But I honestly didn't care. Not in the moment. My head snapped up to see his expression puzzled—not because he was confused, but because he obviously didn't understand why I was saying this.

Anger was clenching my jaw, tightening my crossed arms. "Have you even tried to reach out to him? Tried to make things right? Maybe if you did, Dick would come home-" I glanced left, at the stranger now staring at me. "-and we wouldn't need a _cheap knock off_."

"Patricia, please-" Bruce sighed.

The stranger spoke up, interrupting, "Bitch, you don't even know me."

"I don't need to, to know you're a waste of time," I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Fuck off."

"Get out of my house."

"It's my house, too, now," he leaned toward me in an expression, mimicking my narrowed eyes. "In case you haven't noticed. Maybe it's because you're a blonde?"

Every inch of my face contorted into spiteful, irate disgust. I opened my mouth to retaliate when Bruce's voice cut between us like a hot knife. "That's enough," he said, in frustration. "This is final, Trish. We're moving on."

I stared up at him also with disgust, but instead it was mixed with sorrow. He wasn't even going to try to mend things with Dick so he could come back. A part of me expected it, but the rest of me was incredibly disappointed.

Bruce was one of the three men that raised me. I'd never looked at him in such a negative light than I did right then, even after thirteen years. I uncrossed my arms and pushed myself up from the sofa, then exited the sitting room without another word.

I'd gone to my bedroom and stayed there. Cleaning, cooking, gardening—other tasks always helped me to relax after becoming upset. They helped me focus on something else and gave a momentary reprieve.

So I put one of my Pink Floyd records on and started cleaning my bathroom. It had been cleaned already this week but I didn't care. Once I'd scrubbed the tub, toilet, and sink, I scrubbed myself beneath the shower head.

I did my best to wash off the urge to cry and scream, and the urge to call Dick and tell him and try to convince him whatever life he'd made for himself since leaving wasn't worth it. Somehow I always felt my most emotionally comfortable in the shower.

No bad day could stand up to the calming nature of the hot water and dim lights. _Comfortably Numb_ could be heard through the open bathroom door, creating a melancholy ambiance. It helped—but it didn't cure anything.

After my shower, I dressed in my cotton pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. It was the first one I grabbed out of the top drawer of my dresser, and it just had to be my only Wayne Enterprises shirt. I only kept it as a sleep shirt.

Or a shirt I could rip up if necessary. With wet hair, I dropped backward onto my bedspread and laid there a minute, listening to the song. I didn't know just how to process whatever I was feeling, and I didn't think I ever would.

It's not something you learn. You just work it out eventually. One day you wake up and suddenly you don't feel so bad. There's no secret trick. At least, that's what Dick had told me. Even still I would trust him over Bruce.

 _And yet_ , I thought, _you're still here_.

I got up with a huff and stopped the record player. The melancholy was not at all what I needed. Instead, I opened up my stereo and placed a CD inside, closed the lid, and pressed play. A vibrant, sultry voice filled the room and I felt a pang of nostalgia.

Selena was one of Savannah's favorites. At least, it was when I knew her. The last time I saw Savannah Syren was the last day of her trial. Bruce did not want me involved in it whatsoever but, thankfully, Dick snuck me out to go.

If he hadn't done that, I might not have ever seen her after the last time she left the Manor, weeks before her arrest. She was like a sister to me in some ways. I looked up to her. My eight year old self wanted so desperately to be like her.

So, logically, I learned Spanish and wore mostly the color red. The Spanish was for times like these, when Selena would randomly sing through a stereo and it was a necessity to be able to sing along.

Even now I found myself whispering the words to myself as I straightened up a few things around my bedroom—reorganizing my desk, picking up clothes or fallen items. I didn't feel anything but stark and saddening nostalgia until a belted note signaled the start of Savannah's favorite.

It was mine, too, if only because it was the one we sang along and danced to the most. "Cada vez que lo veo pasar. Mi corazon se enloquece. Y me empieza a palpitar," I sang along unapologetically, twirling once to match the music as I went from my desk to the closet.

The music was rather loud, and so was my singing, but I didn't care. I pushed in my dresser drawers and tidied up the closet a bit. During all of this I only left my room once to go down to the kitchen and retrieve a cup of tea.

When I ventured to the downstairs of the Manor, I didn't see any strangers lurking about or brooding playboy philanthropists, so I wasn't forced to put on a sociable face. I was able to scowl all the way from my room, to the kitchen, and back again.

It was fairly freeing. I came back to my room with a steaming mug and went straight to Percy's cage. Percy, my small Chinchilla son, perked up when I opened the cage door. He was always eager to come out and hang with me.

I pulled him out of the cage and brought him—and my tea—to my bed, and got comfortable with a random book i'd picked up from the floor. Percy sat in my lap while I read, gnawing on a treat I gave him. The randomness of my activities was alarming.

At this point, I was doing things to pass the time—at least, enough of it so that most of the Manor would be asleep. Wayne Manor at night, when it felt completely empty, was much easier to travel through than during the day.

There was something about daylight that made it ugly. But the night, it made it feel intriguing. I knew all the secret spots, I knew this place better than the back of my own hand. Yet there were always new places to explore.

After a while, I decided to put Percy away for the night and attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. He was tucked away in his cage and I put my book away. Then I heard it—a soft knock at my door. My eyes almost— _almost_ —rolled.

It would be just like Bruce to come crawling with his tail between his legs after icing me for the rest of the day. I begrudgingly pattered to the door in my pajamas and pulled it open with a sigh. An unreadable emotion traveled up my spine at the sight of Jason Todd.

I'd sworn never to say his name but, well, it was inevitable anyway. He wore a loose, casual smirk, leaning his left shoulder into the door frame. "What?" I questioned, tiredly.

"I think we got off to a bad start," he pulled a hand from behind his back, revealing his hold on a small container of gelato. "Wanna help me fix that?"

My shoulders slumped, a small huff of air slipping through my lips. _Did I_ , I thought, _want at all to mend a terrible first impression?_ The first instinct in my chest was to decline, shut the door, and trap myself below the blankets where he could not find me.

There I would hide until eventually he blew away with the wind, after it'd been realized he was just what I had expected—a cheap imitation. But that was awfully bitter and mean. I mentally reprimanded myself for that thought.

I reached out and snatched the cold container from his hand and stepped out from the safe confides of my bedroom, then walked down the darkened hallway toward the staircase. There was no way I was going to let him in my room.

Not yet or not at all—I wasn't comfortable with that idea. So the staircase was the next best thing, it being wide open and out in the public view of the rest of the Manor. I sat on the top step and Jason mirrored my position three feet to the right.

He'd brought a second container for himself, popping open the lid after handing me a silver spoon from the kitchen. "Bruce put you up to this, hm?" I spoke rhetorically, digging the spoon into the ice cream.

Jason wrinkled his nose at me, "No."

"Then," I paused, glancing at him sideways. "How'd you know I like pistachio gelato?"

"Well, Alfred told me that—only 'cause I asked," he smirked smugly.

I nodded then, pursing my lips. Leave it to Alfred to spill my secrets and leave me completely vulnerable to attack. "So, tell me how getting me fat is going to 'fix' this morning," I said, before spooning gelato into my mouth.

The boy huffed an airy chuckle, the sound lingering in the form of a loose smile on his lips. My eyes narrowed, analyzing him, as his replied. Jason propped himself back against the railing of the staircase, stretching out a leg on the lower step.

"That was an excuse to get you talking," he explained, facing me now. "The next part to this plan involves shaking hands like we _didn't_ do this morning. We start over."

My left eyebrow rose as my amusement contorted my lower features, "Then what?"

"Then we get to know each other," he shrugged, still looking smug.

"Sounds like a shitty teen rom-com. And I don't make out with douchebags."

"Fuck, you've got some vocabulary."

I snorted, "Coming from the guy who just said 'fuck'."

"Come on, throw me a bone," he jumped to the previous topic, seemingly ignoring my comment. He set his container aside as he sat up, retracting his leg as he held out his hand in my direction.

My eyes rolled from the container of gelato chilling my hands to the hopeful and expectant expression of Jason's face. Even in the dark of the hallway, odd shadows cast with the only light coming from the lower level, his features were clearly visible.

I really did not want to touch him—like, _at all_. But, then again, I've shaken many hands belonging to people I never wanted to touch. Shaking hands was what you did when meeting someone. Everyone knows that.

The common sense filling my brain caused me to groan. Finally, I slid my hand into his and shook it, swallowing the bitter pill. "Jason Peter Todd—nice to meet you," he smiled at me.

"Oh, middle names, too? We're going there?" I quirked an eyebrow.

He nodded sarcastically, playing along with ease, "Yep, we're going there."

"Alright, then. Patricia Adeline Yorkford-Pennyworth, at your service," I introduced myself, purposely using my complete legal name in the hopes of gaining some kind of outward reaction.

"Hot _damn_ ," Jason's face lit up, loosing a chuckle.

Shrugging as I retracted my hand, I pulled my feet up to perch beneath me, bringing my knees to my chest, "It's a family name."

"I like it—it's unique. Sounds real vintage," he commented, before leaning back into the railing. The words caused me to chuckle once, quietly, as I glanced away. "So, Bruce says you're Black Sparrow. That must be cool."

I had assumed Bruce wouldn't waste any time replacing Dick in general—but I hadn't exactly expected him to be so quick to give away all our family secrets. My back straightened a little as I leaned to the left, looking at Jason skeptically.

"Yeah...it's amazing," I replied, slowly. "I'm guessing he hasn't started training you yet."

"Nah, that's tomorrow—but I can't _fucking_ wait. It'll be so cool, kicking ass side-by-side with _Batman_. And you, of course."

My eyes instinctively squinted, "Of course."

He spoke so enthusiastically about kicking ass with the Bat, and the addition of me was obviously an after thought. Though, that was reasonable. Everyone loves Batman. Everyone loves Robin. At this point, it seemed Gotham loves me as much as Batgirl when she started.

In other words—barely one percent of the city remembers my name. That didn't really matter, though, in the grand scheme of it all. As long as lives were saved, what does it matter whose name is in the headlines?

If I only could've convinced Dick of that sentiment. I sighed internally at the thought. "How'd _you_ end up here?" Jason inquired, eyes full of curiosity as he jutted his chin at me to emphasize his words.

"Bruce didn't tell you?"

He shook his head, making a facial expression to match his brief shrug. This time my sigh was external. "Alfred was close friends with my mom so, when she died, he adopted me," I explained, shortening the story drastically.

"How old were you?"

"Five, when she died. I was seven when I got here, though."

I reached beside me to pick up my container of gelato. My fingers worked the spoon through the substance quickly to put a spoon full of it in my mouth before I could say more. Sharing personal details made me uncannily self-conscious.

It wasn't something I enjoyed. In fact, I loathed it. Silence carried the time for a moment. The quiet was a little perplexing, considering he seemed unable to shut his mouth. But I could feel his eyes on me—and I couldn't help myself.

Turning my head a little, I glanced up at him from my gelato curiously, "What?"

"Aren't you gonna ask why i'm here?" he questioned, staring at me with perplexed features.

"You'll tell me your tragic backstory when you want me to hear it."

I gave a soft shrug, delivering my answer calmly and simply. Dick was never one to openly talk about certain topics regarding his family—neither was Bruce. They'd answer some things, depending on what I asked. But after a while I got into a habit of not asking.

I felt the questions becoming insensitive the older I got, finally becoming aware of it after my innocent youth. By the time Dick left us I had adopted a policy of not asking. If what I wanted to know was available information, it would come out voluntarily later.

Jason stared at me in the dark—the corner of his mouth upturned and his eye lines crinkled in an expression I could only name as intrigue. I found myself staring back as I read the expression. Then, once done, seemingly unable to remove my irises.

The muscles holding my eyes on his face were unapologetic and absentminded, tracing the line of his jaw and brushing over his cheek bones. His strikingly blue eyes flitted quickly between mine for a beat before dropping low to my chin.

No, not my chin. My lips. There was no offense felt from this action—because I was doing the same thing. Something about the way he looked at me was alluring, it was magnetic. And my innocence shone through in my curiosity.

I found myself wanting to know what the skin of his face felt like, what would happen if I simply reached out and touched it. Then realization ran through my body in a sudden jolt, causing my torso to lurch back the few inches i'd absentmindedly leaned forward.

He'd done the same a second later, sitting upright and blinking a few times as though he, too, were just coming out of a dream. Heat flared in my cheeks with the drop of my stomach as a smirk slowly crept its way onto his lips.

The ones i'd just been staring at. "Thanks for the olive branch," I spoke quickly, gathering myself together as I rushed to stand, hopping up onto the hallway from the second step. "Goodnight."

I am convinced my feet never truly touched the ground when I pattered back down the hallway to my room. "Wha-" Jason cut himself off with a huffing sigh as I reached my door. "...goodnight."

My hand turned the knob and I pushed through into the safety of my warm bedroom, a place easy to escape from whatever hypnosis was taking place on the staircase. Immediately I closed the door, flopping my back against the wood, exhaling.

To appear unattainable, I reached out and pushed down the light switch. Percy's night light was the only light in the room then, a blueish-white hue that only lit a corner of the room. The tactic seemed to work just fine.

In the morning I was gone from the Manor before anyone else but Alfred had woken up. It was a big day for me. Savannah had started a small dance group for a charity show at the school many years ago when she attended.

After that, the group became popular simply by word of mouth, Savannah's name bringing it more popularity than it could handle. And then the group was being used for different charity events around the city.

It was a neat idea but it died when she was arrested. Since then, I had resurrected it with the help my best friend in the whole world, Daya. She was arguably the best dancer in the city, but she was an even better singer and friend.

I didn't want to be the center of attention, I didn't want to be the star—so Daya filled the role of lead singer and performer for the group. There was no way I could be the lead with Daya's voice so readily available.

Today was the final, in-costume rehearsal before an important event. So I'd driven to the venue to meet the girls and we got to work. The other members were all secret heroes of mine. Not because they were famous or anything.

They were my heroes simply for existing. Aaliyah, Rebecca, and Tiffany were goddesses of dance. They were strong, confident women of color, their talent only making them more beautiful. We'd joked many times that I was the 'token white girl' of the group.

Surrounded by such talents whom were also my closest friends, I didn't mind being the odd girl out. Their level of skill and professionalism was something I strove for.

We rehearsed until we needed to leave the venue so the crew could finish setting up, with only a couple of hours before the event was scheduled to start. So Daya and I went to the Manor to get ready—mostly because her outfit had been dry cleaned with mine and hung in my closet.

I pushed through the door, holding it for Daya. "The outfit looks so good on you, though," I was saying, as we entered the Manor. "It contrasts with your skin tone perfectly—I just look really pale and it's gross."

"God, Trish, you're gorgeous in gold!" Daya laughed at my words, almost as though she found the stupidity cute.

My eyes narrowed in a disbelieving expression, the front door falling closed behind us as we crossed the room to the staircase, "Says the literal _goddess_ walking into my house wearing Gucci like it's her _job_."

"Okay...you got me there," she said, as we started up the steps.

The humorous, sarcastic nature of her tone and the expression her features made caused me to laugh, and Daya laughed as a reaction. She threw her arm around my shoulders, the two of us laughing together up the staircase.

We'd just reached the top step, moving into the hallway, when I heard a familiarly smug voice. It was Jason, I knew. "Yo, where you been all day?" he asked, walking toward us from the other end of the hall.

I stopped walking with a heavy sigh, causing Daya to retract her arm from my shoulders as I turned to see the incoming male. " _Yo_?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jason rolled his eyes, "Bruce's looking for you. Said something about a show tonight?"

"Yeah, tell him it's at the hotel on Green Street. It's a black tie event so i'm not sure hoodies and wife beaters would blend."

Yesterday he'd worn a thick cotton hoodie. There wasn't much to say for that. But today Jason wore a loose black wife beater that clung to sections of his torso, his exposed flesh visibly coated in a layer of sweat. Swallowing hard, I kept myself back.

There was no desire for a repeat of last night. So, using all my self control, I simply did not look away from his face. Though, that wasn't much better. But it was the lesser of two evils. _Or was it?_

"I've worn a tux," he wrinkled his features in a spiteful expression.

I laughed once, patronizingly humorous, "Okay, Jump Street."

"You must be Jason," Daya sidled up next to me, leaning into me with her forearm propped on my shoulder. My eyes instantly snapped to look at her face, questioning silently— _what are you doing? Don't talk to him! He's literally cancer_.

Jason smirked smugly just about all of the time, it seemed. It was almost like he didn't know how to make any other expression. But his crystal eyes lit up when they moved to Daya, and my blood almost boiled. "In the flesh," he replied, emitting visible testosterone through his pores.

Daya gave a small chuckle, looking over him in disbelief. "You _are_ a cocky one, aren't you? You're lucky you're not ugly, sweetheart," she told him. Then she turned to me, "Let's go, babe."

A devilish thought entered my brain. Calling each other 'babe' was common for Daya and I, and it meant nothing romantic. But Jason didn't know that. I smirked confidently at him as I slung my arm around Daya's neck.

"She's mine, asshole."

I pulled Daya with me as I turned around and the two of us began to walk to my room. It was incredibly hard not to start laughing—my chest was filled with an insatiable urge to burst with triumphant laughter.

But I held it in until we got into my room, the door securely shut behind us. Daya continued toward my bed but I stopped immediately after shutting the door as the insatiable laughter began to consume me.

It was audible at first, then the laughter was too deep and too strong to be heard. I was choking on it, thrust back into the closed door, my face wrinkled painfully tight. The implications of what I'd just started stretched far and wide.

This didn't end at Jason Todd—no, it would continue to Bruce and to Alfred. It only made me laugh harder, the image in my head of Jason telling Bruce I was a Lesbian or, at the very least, Bi. He would be so confused.

And for some reason it made me laugh so hard my stomach muscles began to ache. I could hear Daya laughing at me from the bed, and I forced my eyelids open to look at her through teary eyes of joy.

"Are you gonna get in trouble?" Daya asked, looking at me seriously through her chuckles.

Shaking my head, I pushed off the door and walked toward the bed, "No...but I've just given...myself so many...opportunities to mess with that shithead."

I answered her question through remainders of laughter. Daya crawled across the bed and slid off the side, then went to the record player on my dresser. I'd dropped onto the end of the bed, rubbing the water from my eyes, while she put a record on.

We had only a couple of hours so we tried not to waste time taking turns using the shower, then getting dressed. All the makeup was splayed out on the bathroom counter. Flecks of glitter were everywhere.

Daya finished with her press-on nails while I worked on my eye shadow. It had to match as closely as possible with hers, so I took many glances at her artistry when trying to do mine.

At this point, I'd gotten pretty good with my makeup. But that didn't stop me from being nervous when putting it on. There was a knock at the door just before we were to be leaving. We were running a little late.

I hurried to the door, having just finished my final outfit check, and pulled it open without thought. Alfred stood just outside the bedroom. He smiled proudly at me, holding a beautiful bouquet of lilies—my favorite flower.

My head tilted as a soft smile spread across my glittery gold lips. "Thought i'd wish you luck now in case I don't get to see you before the performance," Alfred said, and held out the bouquet.

I took it gratefully before throwing my arms loosely around his neck, "Thanks, dad."

"Aw, that's so sweet," Daya said, as I stepped back from Alfred. "Loving the supportive dad look, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Thank you, Miss Franklin. I believe if we don't leave soon you both are going to be terribly late," Alfred said, glancing at his wrist watch even though I knew he didn't need to.

In the few seconds it would take for me to toss out the dying flowers from the vase on my desk and replace them with the lilies, I did. Then we were completely ready to go. Daya and I hurried down the staircase to the foyer.

Bruce and Jason stood in the general vicinity of the front door, most likely awaiting Alfred. We made it to the bottom of the stairs, walking fast for the door, when Bruce noticed our approach. Unfortunately, it alerted Jason as well.

The rat gave a low whistle, pausing his struggle with with the suit jacket cuffs to follow us with his eyes. "Damn, Pennyworth," he commented, appreciatively. "You look-"

"I don't care, Jason."

I'd interrupted as Daya and I walked beyond him to the front door. I pulled open the door and held it as Daya rushed through the exit, heading straight for my car in the driveway. In the glance I'd spared over my shoulder I noticed something off about Jason's appearance.

For a split second, I couldn't tell what it was. But then I noticed it. Before following after Daya, I said, "Your tie's crooked."

Jason immediately looked down to his tie and I left the Manor wearing a small smirk. _I've worn a tux_ , I thought. _Yeah, sure you have, Jason_. My feet carried me so quickly to the car that I thought for a moment that I might actually be levitating.

Daya and I arrived at the hotel on Green Street, the venue for our performance, only a few short minutes after we were supposed to. So, at least we weren't so late that the other girls started panicking. They only did that when it was after fifteen minutes.

Even then, it was a controlled panic.

We were in the women's restroom—the informal 'backstage' area for the night—preparing to go on at our specified time, when I received a phone call. My phone vibrated wildly in my gold clutch. It nearly bobbed right off the marble counter top.

But I quickly grabbed the clutch and shoved a hand inside, pulling it out with the cell phone in my palm. A familiar name that drove a railroad tie into the left side of my chest appeared on the screen. _Dick_.

There was only a rough estimate of five minutes before it was time to get on stage and perform. I didn't have enough time to stay and talk like I would want to. So, instead of answering as I yearned to do, I rejected the call.

I slid the phone back into my clutch with a hard swallow just as we were told to get to the stage by a hotel staff member. That was it. That was the opportunity I prayed for, the one to turn this all around, and I let it go.

Good or bad, I would have to live with it.

The girls and I made it to the moderately sized stage area in the purposely dimmed lights of the hotel ballroom. We moved into our proper positions as we'd rehearsed earlier in the day. And then the music began and Daya's voice filled the room.

She wore a small headset, making it easy for her to continue dancing in the parts that it was required. Tonight we were performing two songs, as it was a long event, which were approved by the event coordinator.

Our most popular and requested routine was to Bruno Mars' song _24K Magic_. So we were to perform that routine first, then work in a second set to Ariana Grande's song _Side To Side_.

Though we didn't always use completely original choreography, we did always use original voices. It made the performances more interesting. There was a pound of glitter on my face to match the glitter on my sleeveless top.

It was solely gold glitter, matching the white fishnets that sparkled on my legs beneath the leather shorts on my hips. Tiffany was typically in charge of deciding costumes—and her fashion choices were always perfect for the songs.

Since _24K Magic_ was first, she chose gold glitter and black as the theme. It was only reasonable.

We didn't do much of an intro. The performance started into the verse, and the four of us dancing all moved in sync to the beat of the instrumental, guided by Daya's lyrics. I knew for a fact that all three other residents from Wayne Manor were in the audience.

But I didn't let that stop me. I'd pushed it from my mind as I always did. If anything, knowing they were watching only drove me to perform better.

The song hit a very important lyric for the purpose of this performance— _spend your money like money ain't shit_ —and the five of us, hands on our hips, leaned toward the crowd and flipped our hair, and then leaned back to point at the donation banner to the right of us.

It earned applause and some laughter from the audience. That part always made me smile, laughing a little as well as we continued the choreography. Did the hundreds of faces staring at me and bright lights make me nervous? Of course.

Though, it never hindered my performance. For us it was all about having fun and raising money for good causes. If it was so stressful we couldn't function as a group, what would be the point of even being together?

We transitioned smoothly into the second song, applause coming from the audience from the end of _24K Magic_. Now the opening music from _Side To Side_ began to play and Daya was singing new lyrics.

She participated in most of the beginning choreography for this song because it was easy to do while singing. When the beat of the verse kicked in, and the moves got faster and more focused, she changed steps to only sing.

Her dance moments had to be carefully placed in order to keep her voice steady. You can't sing a straight note while doing jumping jacks very well. It was the same concept.

The whole performance ended with each member in a different pose, yet still connected to each other either by lean-on or a hand placement. It made us look like total divas but it sold the act too well not to use it. So we kept it.

Everyone watching the performance seemed pleased with it. The audience applauded at the end and as the five of us exited the stage. Aaliyah hollered as we entered the women's restroom, "That was amazing! We were so good out there."

"Beautiful job, girls," Daya nodded in agreement, smiling at all of us in turn.

My chest was pumping faster than normal with the hard work and adrenaline, but I managed to smile back as I breathed heavily, leaning against the counter. "Your voice was incredible, D," I said.

The others commented their compliments of agreement and Daya waved it all away, chuckling a little as she stepped up to the mirror. She never took compliments well. And I never understood why—not when she was so deserving of them.

After we fixed our makeup and wiped away any sweat, we made our way out into the crowd of event goers to mingle and talk people into giving money. It was the custom at these things.

All five of us went in different directions to cover random areas of the crowd. I was met with compliments and bright smiles from Gotham's elite as I walked into the ocean of people dressed incredibly more fancy than I was.

I'd left my rhinestone covered leather jacket in the bathroom, leaving me in my gold top and leather shorts, with black Converse on my feet. It wasn't much compared to the gowns and diamonds on the guests. Still I waded in and created opportunities to talk about the charity.

There were many people whom said they were already committed to donating, and there was a handful of others I was able to persuade to donate.

And then my heart lurched into my throat from a sudden voice close to my ear, the vital organ sinking into my feet once I realized who it belonged to. "That was pretty cool," Jason said, sidestepping up in front of me.

Sighing, my bare shoulders dropped, "Yeah...sure."

"No, I mean it," he assured, causing me to squint. There was something genuine about what he said next that surprised me, "That was _amazing_. You're really talented."

My head tilted a fraction of an inch as I eyed him curiously, trying to analyze his features for the punchline. But there wasn't one. And that only confused me. Bruce walked over to us from an ended conversation with some other guests then.

He stepped up beside Jason, a loose smile on his mouth as he gave me a nod. "That was an excellent performance, Trish," he commended me, a gleam of pride to his eyes. "You and your group never fail to put on a good show."

"Thanks, Bruce," I nodded a little, smiling with my mouth closed.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of a shrill scream, the blood racing sound followed by a string of loud gunshots. My body jolted from the sudden, loud sounds, ducking a little instinctively.

The guests all started to scream and move rapidly in random directions. A hand on my arm pulled my attention to Bruce. It was easy to read the words written in his eyes— _get your suit_. I gave a singular nod and charged into the crowd.

I'd tucked my suit under the counter in the women's restroom in case I needed it during the performance. At this point, bringing it along and stowing it somewhere easily accessible was an incredibly strong habit.

It was done without much thought. It was muscle memory. I elbowed my way through the crowd and slipped into the women's room. Quickly I found my case under the far end of the counter and pulled it out, placing it atop the marble.

My suit was always easier to put on than Dick's. We joked about it constantly. The Robin suit was a little complicated, though Dick had putting it on down to an exact science. His method made it a hundred times easier to get it on fast.

The Sparrow suit was simple—step it and zip up. The only extras were the boots and the utility belt with a holster for my staff. It was in its two-part state to fit in the holster. But once I had it on, I pulled it out and connected both pieces.

Bruce Wayne was always being watched in such a public setting. But Patricia Pennyworth? No one cared. It was easy for me to slip away and reappear. I slipped out of the bathroom without notice and went left, toward the front of the ballroom.

Gunman wearing poorly constructed masks stood near the door, collecting jewelry and valuables from the patrons. I snuck behind the stage and continued on the other side, reaching into my belt for my bird-shaped batarangs.

At the end of the stage, behind a bar counter a few feet away, I perched myself. Then it was open season. I pushed down on the bar counter and swung my legs up, thrusting myself over the counter as I threw the birds.

They whistled through the air, each bird finding a home in various parts of each gunman. Then there was screaming—but it wasn't from the guests. A gunman who appeared to be the leader of this crusade yanked the bird from his wrist and charged.

He fired multiple bullets from his assault rifle that I leapt to dodge, coming up with the end of my staff as I landed, the weapon slamming into the under side of his chin.

The man was thrust backward, gun clattering to the ground. I swung the other end of the staff at the side of his face. Blood speckled the white flooring as the man hit the ground. My thumb grazed over the center button of the staff, separating the pieces.

With one in each hand, I leapt, rolling forward to reach the others. I swung as I stood, one half of the staff hitting a gunman in the side of the head while the other smacked the gun from another's hand by hitting his wrist, causing a loud crack.

There was only two left. One was already on the floor, writhing with a metal bird stuck deep into his thigh. The other dropped his gun and held up his bloody hands in surrender. Taking steps toward him, I slid the pieces of the staff back together.

"Hey, hey, hey- I surrender! I'm done!" the man shouted in his panic.

Of course, he had a right to be panicked. I twisted, spinning the staff around to aim the other end, before slamming it into the side of the man's head. He dropped to the floor, unconscious.

These were obviously not very experienced robbers.

Typically they at least tried to put up a fight. It made me suspicious, just how easy it'd been, but I kept the thoughts to myself as I turned my head to look at the stunned yet relieved guests.

Slowly, they began to clap for my—little did they know—second performance of the night. I gave a sure nod, glancing around at the thankful faces. But I was searching the crowd for Bruce and Jason, I was searching for Daya and my friends.

It didn't take me long to find the only guests wearing gold sleeveless tops. They looked shaken up but unharmed. Then, finally, my eyes caught sight of Bruce. He was visibly trying to hide a smug look to his face, clapping with the rest of the guests.

Bruce gave a single, slow nod—quietly giving me his approval and cuing me to leave at the same time. So I gave a final nod to those clapping and made my exit.

I waited in the alley behind the hotel for what seemed like at least an hour before Jason came through the side door with my clothes. That was to be expected, though, when you considered the arrival of Police officers.

The cops would want to question everyone at the event and get statements, which meant waiting longer to get civilian clothes, but the Sparrow suit was actually quite comfortable. I'd spent many, many hours in it as it was.

"That was intense, man," Jason said, giving me my clothes from the bathroom. "I mean- the way you dodged those bullets? Fuck, that was incredible!"

"Don't go becoming a Black Sparrow fan now," I titled my head in an expression.

Jason snorted, "Like I wasn't one before. I've never actually _seen_ you fight before."

I held up one finger while he as talking, twirling it to make a _turn around_ gesture. And he did without question, turning his back to me mid-sentence. While he was faced away I unzipped the suit and put back on my gold outfit.

The red and blue lights from the cruisers parked along the front and side of the building reached the shadows all the way back here. Jason made a sound of disgust, mumbling under his breath, "Fucking cops."

"It's common knowledge most of them are dirty-" I said, leaning back against the side of the building in order to tie my shoe laces. "-but, what's wrong with cops? In your own words."

"They're all a bunch of useless assholes. They don't even do their jobs."

"It's Gotham."

I'd said it as though that should be enough of a reason—because it should. This city corrupted and manipulated the kindest of souls and made good people into something they were not. It had a perverse effect on its residents.

Bruce had said Jason was from Gotham, but he talked about the Police here like he wasn't. I was used to the blatant inadequacy of the Gotham Police Department. Nothing shocked me anymore.

Hiking up my other leg to tie my second shoe, I looked up at Jason curiously, "I thought everyone was as used to their bullshit as I was."

"Yeah, says a girl who was raised in the lap of luxury, living in big houses and driving expensive cars," he grumbled the words in irritation. "Out there, on the streets? The cops did nothing but kick my ass _every_ night."

My foot slipped off the brick of the building, dropping to the pavement below from a jolt of surprise. I stared at the back of his head, waiting—hoping and praying—for him to say he was joking. That he was just messing with me.

But he never did.


	2. A Loss of Sanity

Three full weeks had ticked by since Jason's arrival. I hadn't anticipated surviving the first, so you can probably imagine my surprise when I made it through two more.

My schedule had been packed with three events each week, rehearsals every day, and nightly patrol with Bruce. But when I had free time during the day I found myself down in the cave, watching Bruce school Jason. It was quite entertaining.

It was the first day of the fourth week, and I sat in the office chair at the silver desk of computers, watching them train. Jason proved to be a fast learner. He was good at picking up cues and repeating sequences.

Though, I was only a little impressed. It would take a lot for me to stand and cheer. For now I sat silently, only making noise when it was to chuckle to myself at a mistake, turning the chair from left to right and back again with my foot.

Slumped down in the chair, my chin shoved into my chest from the awkward angle, I watched. "You're getting better, but you need to focus," Bruce reprimanded Jason, giving him a hand off the mat.

"Time to sweep the leg, Jason," I spoke up sarcastically, turning my chair to the right.

Jason sent a look my way that was a mixture of confusion and amusement, before looking to Bruce across from him on the mat. "Why is she here?" he questioned, tiredly. "She's not even doing anything important."

I scoffed, pretending to be hurt, "Ouch."

"Trish is going to spar with you. To test you."

My eyes immediately found Bruce's face upon hearing his words. It was certainly a surprise to hear them—I was not convinced Bruce would ever let me spar, with the rate he was going. Jason appeared just as surprised, but more pleasantly than I anticipated.

A wide smile broke out across his face, bobbing his head, "Sick."

Obviously holding in a sigh, Bruce left the mat to walk to my position by the desk. He held out his staff to me as I pulled myself upright in my chair. "Teach him a thing or two," he told me, tipping his head toward where he'd left Jason.

My lips curved into a smirk and I stood from the office chair, taking the staff from his hand as I did. I preferred being able to use my own, two pieces often working better for me than one, but for training purposes a wooden staff was much more practical.

They were solid, but I remember once actually breaking one. It was a complete fluke. But it happened, and I'd probably never forget it, considering it was one of the first times I beat Dick in training.

I left my zip-up hoodie on the chair and pattered to the mat. "I'm not taking it easy on you just because you're new," I said, like it should be obvious—because, really, it should've been.

Jason only cocked his head briefly in an expression, mindlessly twisting his staff in his hand with bright eyes of excitement. "I'm not taking it easy on you 'cause you're a girl," he replied, a bit smug.

My features flattened, standing across from him on the mat, "Barbara's going to hate you."

"Who's Barbara?"

"A woman that's going to kick your ass. Let's go, bitch."

"Patricia," Bruce's voice caused me to turn my head. He stood by the desk, a look of warning on his features. But it was mixed with something that said I should know better. From being raised by Alfred, I should know better.

That is correct. Does it mean I'm going to be a pansy and never say anything other than what was previously allowed? No. I'm twenty years old. Bruce seldom remembered my age—yet he could keep track of all his batarangs.

My response was a roll of my eyes as I faced Jason again. With many hours of watching him spar with Bruce, I had a very clear picture of what to expect. He had no such thing for me. He'd seen me fight once, three weeks ago.

It was safe to say I had the upper hand, and I was going to use it to its full potential. We stood ready for a few short seconds before Jason made the first move. He darted forward from his position and I followed suit, taking a different course.

Essentially, I played chicken. I moved forward before spinning three hundred and sixty degrees outward, turning around to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, while simultaneously sliding my staff into the space between his bent arm and his chest.

I used his force against him as I gave a hard yank, both hands on the staff. Jason's body was tugged backward, but lifted a half inch off the ground before his back slammed against it with a sharp smack.

My staff's end half pressed against his shoulder, pinning his right side to the mat. His eyes were rounded simply from shock of the sudden drop, chest heaving a little. "Fucking hell," he sputtered, beneath his breath. "What even _was_ that?!"

"Newbie special," I said, exhaling as I let go of him to stand.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking up at me with an impressed expression, "Damn, Pennyworth. Show me what else you got."

I did just as he said. Each time he came forward I slammed him against the mat a different way. Toward the end of our session, I'd ended up straddling his middle, the toes of my tennis shoes pinning his wrists against the mat on either side of him.

My fingers gripped tightly to my staff as I held the middle of it across his throat. Jason was grinning like an idiot, laughing even though he was breathing more heavily now. "You like that one, huh?" I questioned, rhetorically.

"You're on top of me, aren't you?"

" _Please_. Take a breath."

"You're sitting on my ribs."

"Well, i'm not sitting on your-"

"That's enough for today," Bruce interrupted me, reminding me he was even still in the cave. I sat back, removing the my staff from Jason's neck, and turned my head to see Bruce. "I have to go to the office. Patricia, behave."

I lifted my hands in a _what gives?_ gesture with a scoff. He ignored my expression of annoyed confusion and started walking toward the exit. It was unfair to only tell that to me—especially considering I wasn't the one making everything sexual.

That should bother Bruce, shouldn't it? Yet he acted oblivious. Dick and I never had that problem. There was an obvious age gap, we'd spent all our time here acting as siblings—there was no need for it to be an issue. But Jason was different.

I felt no relation to him, he was a stranger. It was a free-thinking space now. Sighing heavily, I rolled off Jason and pushed to my feet in one smooth motion, then walked back to the silver desk. My zip-up hoodie still lay draped across the office chair.

"Come on, we could totally go again," Jason spoke up from the mat, as I reached for my hoodie. "Bruce isn't even here—he'd never know."

"Bruce always knows. Besides, I've got places I need to be."

I pulled on my hoodie and zipped it almost halfway up my chest, then I placed the staff back on the rack with the others. "Right…" Jason eyed me skeptically. My head tilted momentarily in an expression enforcing my thought that he was ridiculous.

There were in fact things I needed to do. I'd left the cave and gone straight to my bedroom to shower and get changed. The first item on my list was to clean out Percy's house. Then when I was done with that it was time to meet the girls at the studio for rehearsal.

We have only one show this week, but it's still just as important as any others. At this point I had the _24K Magic_ routine down, but it always helped to do group practices and keep every move in the forefront of your mind.

My hair had literally just dried when I walked into the studio. Tiffany, Aaliyah, and Rebecca were there, only Daya hadn't arrived. That wasn't unusual, though. I dropped my gym bag on the bench at the back of the room and started putting my hair up into a pony tail. "What's this charity for again?" I asked, to no one in particular.

Tiffany answered, "Ischemic heart disease."

It caused me a moment's pause. _That was what mom died from_ , I thought. _Well, because it caused her to suffer a fatal stroke_. "Isn't that what your mom had?" Aaliyah asked me, doing an almost perfect split across the floor a few feet from me.

"Yeah. Everything comes full circle, right?" I chuckled a little, laughing it off.

Once I tightened my pony tail, I moved over to the open space beside Aaliyah to do my own stretches. "You should take the lead on this one," Tiffany said, surprising me a bit. "You know, to honor her or something. It could be nice."

Rebecca and Aaliyah both voiced their agreements with hums and quick nods. I didn't feel comfortable discussing it without Daya present, but I did like the idea Tiffany had presented.

Just then, Daya walked through the open glass doors and speed-walked to the bench with her bag like a whirlwind. "Uh! I'm so sorry i'm late, girls," she apologized, dropping her bag. She came straight over to the space next to me on the floor to stretch. "So, what'd I miss?"

Rebecca spoke up, "We think Trish should be the lead for the event on Friday."

"That's a great idea! You can say a few words, maybe, before we start the performance," Daya said, turning to me as she stretched her arms over her head.

I was surprised she agreed so easily. It worried me that she might see it as a takeover of some kind, as though it weren't just a one-time thing. That was my intention—do it once, because it was special to me, and then move on.

Being the lead full-time was never something I wanted. That wasn't about to change. I smiled over at Daya, bending my torso to touch my outstretched toes, "Really? Thanks, D. You might have to give me some pointers for the vocals, though."

"No problem, babe—we can go over to your place after practice and do some refreshers."

"As long as you don't mind running into Butthead."

"You know, I don't see why you hate him so much," Daya said, wrinkling her nose. "I mean- he's smug as shit, don't get me wrong. That would drive me up _the wall_. But he's actually kinda hot."

Aaliyah, on the other side of Daya, perked up at this. She leaned around Daya to see us both, wearing a loose smirk, "Are we talking about Mr. Dreamy again?"

My nose wrinkled, head recoiling in confusion and disgust at the name. _How could you think that? You're supposed to be my friends!_ "He comes to every show with your not-dad dad—it's not like we haven't seen him before," Rebecca said, upon seeing my expression.

It sounded like Jason was already turning all of them to the dark side. "Yeah, but you're not supposed to eye-fuck him!" I all but exclaimed, looking around at the other girls.

"Why? You got dibs?" Daya laughed as my face dropped.

I shook my head, then leaned down for another stretch, "That's _not_ funny."

"T, don't you tell me you haven't thought about it. I know how your filthy little mind works."

"Okay! Can we get on with the practicing please? It's bad enough I have to deal with him at home—we shouldn't waste our rehearsal time on him, too," I declared, rapidly sitting upright.

Daya held up her hands in surrender, lips pressed thin in an expression of rounded eyes, then pushing herself up to stand. "Alright, then," she exhaled. "Ladies, in position. Trish, you're in front."

I'd felt a pang of guilt for my wildly defensive explosion. But I let it go with a heavy exhale and got up to get in position with the rest of the girls. It was never like me to do that. When cornered, I usually just shut down. I didn't explode.

It was simply an inward retreat. Jason was getting under my skin in the worst way—and it needed to stop. I needed to learn to control myself before it got any worse.

Today we were practicing _Fetish_ by Selena Gomez. It wasn't something we were going to perform at this event—it was a random routine to keep us focused, keep us flexible. And it gave us a break from the repetitive norm.

The movements for the lead were very sultry and smooth, the moves of the background a complimentary kind of sexy. I did my best to sing along to the song playing through the studio speakers, but that was not my main focus.

I was focused on the moves, on my appearance, on selling the act. Though we didn't practice it regularly, it was easy to pick up on it once we'd gotten started. We had to restart every now and then when a move wasn't right or needed altering.

It was fairly obvious that I wasn't Daya, and I could not do the things she could. I was a work horse dancer and that's all I wanted to be. Adding the vocals to the position made it more difficult. I could no longer lose myself in the dance—I was forced to focus intensely.

 _But_ , I thought, _it's only for one performance_.

I could handle it just this once. After a couple tries, all of us were in sync with the song and performing the right moves. By the end we were all smiling, having fun with the sexy side of the routine. The song ended and we all applauded.

It was a tradition, almost a rule—we clapped to applaud each other for the job well done, to offer support. Clapping afterward didn't feel like a chore. It felt like something I would've done anyway.

"Great job, girls," Daya smiled at all of us in turn. When she got to me, she took a longer second to add words. "We'll do the refreshers but- damn, girl, you got this. This is going to be an amazing performance."

No, I didn't truly feel her words as I probably should have. But I smiled regardless and thanked her for the compliment. After practice, Daya and I went to get coffee. Then I drove us to Wayne Manor for vocal practice.

The only person I would feel comfortable doing it with was Daya, so I was thankful she wanted to help. She was so good at singing—there was no way I'd match up. But at least I could gain some tips and maybe improve a bit.

I held open the large front door for her and Daya walked into the foyer. Letting the door fall closed on its own, I fell into step with her as we walked for the stairs. "Good afternoon, Miss Franklin," Alfred greeted, as he entered the room from the right.

We slowed, stopping at the bottom of the stairs as Daya acknowledged him back. "Good afternoon, Mr. Pennyworth," she smiled at him, nodding once. "Nice to see you again."

"Ah, you as well. What are you young ladies up to today?"

Daya slung her arm around my neck, pulling me into her side, "Your girl's gonna be singing for us this weekend. I'm just gonna help her practice for a bit."

I hadn't expected the sudden pull, causing my step toward her to be a stumble, and I snickered a little at the humorous nature of it all. Alfred turned his surprised but pleased expression toward me. "Really? That's _wonderful_ , Patricia," he smiled warmly.

"Could you not mention it to Bruce just yet, please? I don't want _certain_ people being annoying about it," I requested, squinting one eye in a hopeful expression.

Alfred nodded, giving a small laugh, "Alright, I won't alert Master Jason to the changes."

"See? It's not hard to say his name," Daya pointed out, patronizing me now, as she turned her head to look down at me in her hold.

Groaning loudly, I turned to face her—her arm still around my neck—and gave her side a push toward the staircase. "Okay, time to go," I announced, causing her to take stumbling steps away from Alfred as she laughed at me. "We need to practice."

"Have a good singing session, girls!" Alfred called to us, as we ascended the staircase.

I sent a smile over my shoulder at him where he stood at the bottom, "Thanks, dad."

The session didn't go too bad, but it wasn't the best. We had a rocky start because I needed to warm up my voice and then try implementing some of Daya's tips into my usual singing technique. Out in the space in front of my bed, we practiced some of the moves while singing the song.

Though, to me, I sounded very average. Not unlike a random singer on the radio. It was nothing special—it certainly wasn't anything like Daya. But Daya insisted I was doing great when I felt like I was doing terribly.

Her encouragement helped in the moment, but it didn't last long after she went home. I'd spent the rest of the daylight in my room practicing and then letting Percy stretch his legs around my room.

He loved coming out and running around. Even if it was for a short while, he always found a way to enjoy whatever time he had. I'd sat on the floor with him for a bit before finally putting him back in his house in the corner of my room.

Then it was time for dinner, followed by nightly patrol. Bruce insisted on bringing the new Robin recruit along this time. I wasn't convinced it was a good idea—but who was I to say? He wouldn't have listened if I kept at it.

So I dropped it. Bruce had always listened more to Dick than to me, though he barely listened to him either. But still, it was more than me. Even with Dick gone Bruce still did not listen. Out there, if we were in a bad spot, he would follow along if I had a good idea.

Not for any other reason, though. It irked me quite a bit, especially with everything that's happened this year. But, again, I kept my mouth shut. The three of us were perched up on a rooftop on the lower West side of Gotham.

This spot was right above a warehouse we'd gotten word was occupied by a familiar villain we were looking for—Steven Syren. Yes, you heard that right. Savannah, the girl who was like a sister to me before she disappeared after escaping Arkham Asylum, had a crazy murderer father.

The apple didn't fall far from the tree with that family. We knew Steven most likely would not actually be in the building, but at least a lot of his cronies would be.

So Robin and I followed Batman's lead, dropping to follow the side of the warehouse to the tall and wide door nestled in the brick. We had staked this location out for at least a week before making a move.

We knew the ins and outs of the building, and inferred told us where the people would be standing. This mission was rather easy. If you didn't count all the effort it took to disarm and render all the cronies unconscious. No one counts that part.

Batman went in first—of course—after an array of gas canisters. He lit up the path through the white smoke as others not being beaten shot at him. Random muzzle flashes and sharp gunshots filled the front area of the building.

Next, I was to enter. But as I took my first step in, a hand covered my shoulder, and a blur of red passed by my side with a confident, "I got this!"

Robin, gone rogue, dashed inside the building and started railing on the first guy he came to. I groaned but I didn't have time for any other display of annoyance. Instead of yelling like I wanted to, I ran inside as well.

There weren't many people to take out inside. I leapt through the haze of the fading white smoke and slammed the end of my staff into the back of someone's head. He dropped to the ground and I swung at another close by. The close quarters made it easier.

Like fish in a very smokey barrel. I'd dropped three guys, putting the final nail in another coffin, and I looked to find where Batman and Robin were in the scheme of it all.

Batman was taking down the majority of those left. Of course, Bruce could handle himself. Worrying about him was pointless. Next I looked for Robin. I found him quickly, the red sticking out amongst the sea of white.

He wasn't far from my position, maybe six yards, beating a guy into the floor. But that wasn't what concerned me. There were a handful of cronies left, and one had gotten back to his feet. He'd grabbed a gun from another off the floor.

The guy was literally seconds away from putting multiple bullets into Jason's back, and Jason had absolutely no idea it was even a concern. A million thoughts ran through my mind, all of disdain and frustration, but I acted instinctively.

Immediately my hand went to my belt, pulling a few metal birds into my palm, before giving a flick of my wrist. The birds went flying and I started running. All of them dug their wings up the side of the man with the gun.

One of them hit his wrist and his gun clattered to the ground as he cried out in pain. Just as that was happening, I was leaping up, and I sent my leg out in front of me. My boot landed flat against the side of his face, dropping him quickly.

The man was thrust to the ground with a loud thud as I rolled across the flooring, using the momentum to shoot up to my feet. In turning around to see the man I'd just rendered unconscious, I could see that all the others were unconscious as well.

My eyes raked over the room, over the bodies, but they stopped cold when they reached Robin where he stood a couple of yards to my left. Rage was slowly filling my veins the longer I looked at him, and my eyes narrowed drastically.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I shouted, taking a step toward him. His head snapped in my direction, eyes quickly finding mine, and confusion spread across his features. I thrusted my hand at the man I'd stopped from killing him, "That guy almost shot you! Did you seriously not know?!"

"He was dead when I left him!" Jason defended, his demeanor turning irritated.

"There's a stark difference between dead and slightly injured, you dumbass! _Learn_ it—next time, I might not be here to fix your _mistakes_."

The venom in my tone was one I didn't know I could physically possess. Batman appeared in my peripheral, getting closer to my right side as he approached us. "Sparrow, that's enough," he spoke sharply, drawing my attention. "We're all partners. When one falls, the others pick up the slack."

"I told you he wasn't ready! Don't you understand? He could've _died_ ," I spat the words back at him.

Bruce's stern features were cold in a steely glare aimed right at me, "Go home."

That was all he said. It was all he'd needed to say anyway. I was only more furious by the way he handled it. Instead of reprimanding Jason, or realizing he made a mistake, he took it out on me and punished me for causing a fuss.

Typical Bruce. If there was anyone to blame for anything, you could bet your ass Bruce would be blaming me. Fuming, I marched back out of the warehouse and went straight back to the cave.

I had no problem doing what I was told as long as it got me away from him. When I reentered the cave, Alfred was there, seemingly waiting for me to return as though Bruce alerted him to the situation. Though, I didn't see him at first.

My feet slammed against the flooring quickly. I pulled off the black mask concealing my identity and threw it at the computer screens on the silver table in a fit of anger. Then Alfred cleared his throat, and my head turned immediately to see him standing a few feet from me.

His expression was one of understanding, unlike Bruce's harsh features at the warehouse. "What's troubling you, my dear?" he questioned, an empathetic droop to his head.

"Bruce is being a jackass—no shocker there! First, he brings in some random kid off the street and gives him a Robin suit, then he doesn't take the time to prepare him properly so he doesn't get murdered!" I vented, shouting in my heated frustration. "Does he not care about _anyone_ but himself?!"

"Oh, my child, I believe it's quite the opposite. He cares very much. We had both hoped having another around would lift your spirits after Master Dick's departure from us. Master Bruce is not a perfect guardian, but do not ever accuse him of being uncaring," Alfred replied, calmly.

My chest was heaving from the adrenaline, from my anger, but the way he phrased it almost made me regret feeling this way. I almost thought for a second that maybe—just maybe—I was in fact being overly dramatic. It almost made me feel sympathy.

But that thought went away a moment after he finished defending Bruce. I slowly shook my head, before throwing up my hands, "I'm _done_ with him, dad! I'm done. Dick was right. This is _bullshit_."

"Patricia, I do wish you would take a moment to calm yourself and reconsider," Alfred said, still calm, though a bit more urgent now. I unclipped my utility belt and dropped it in the seat of the office chair at the desk, then marched past Alfred to the exit.

I wasn't interested in being talked down. I needed a way out. I needed a way out of these insatiable emotions I was feeling swirling around in my gut, pacing like a lion in a cage. My first instinct was go to my room and call Dick.

So that's what I did. Right now, I was fueled purely by emotional instinct. I hurried to my room and flung open the door. No one else was home and I doubted Alfred would follow me. There was no reason to bother locking myself in.

I dropped my weight onto the end of my bed after getting out of my suit and selected Dick's contact in my phone. Deciding to call him was not something I would have done in my right state of mind. I'd been too chicken to call him back for weeks.

But, given the right emotional incentive, I was willing to do just about anything to get a reprieve.

He answered on the second ring. Dick's voice came through the phone a little slowly. "Trish? What's wrong, did something happen?" he questioned, an edge of worry to his tone.

Physically I shook my head, though I knew he could not see it, "No, no- I just...I don't know why I'm still here, Dick. Bruce is an emotionless asshole and everything just feels so goddamn _empty_."

"Well, I know Bruce's an asshole," Dick sighed on the other end. "What did he do this time?"

I opened my mouth to tell him. I was going to tell him everything. _Bruce replaced you, Dick. He didn't even wait a month before bringing a stranger into the house and giving him your spot. And your replacement's a total dick, by the way. He's not even taking it seriously. Please come home._

Instead, only a small strangled sound escaped me. In my pause I thought better of it. Jason was not my secret to tell. He was Bruce's. Bruce could be the one to break Dick's heart however he saw fit—I would not be.

Exhaling, I redesigned my answer in my head before replying, "He just won't listen to me. Day in and day out, I'm treated like a fucking five year old. Like I have no idea what I'm talking about!"

"Can't say i'm surprised. So, why are you? It's typical Bruce behavior. If it's on your nerves so much, move out like I did. Make your own way. We both know you don't need him," Dick said, confidently.

"Why can't you just come back?"

"Trish, we've talked about this. I can't be his puppet anymore."

"But we need you, Dick. _I_ need you. Nothing is the same- it feels like the whole house is hollowed out," I desperately tried to get him to see my reasoning, the back of my throat stinging from the ache in my chest that the words brought on.

There was a moment of utter silence. And I knew—he was trying to figure out a way to tell me he was never coming back that wouldn't completely crush me.

In the seconds I heard nothing, my throat only became more sore, my eyes welling up as reality started to truly crush me. Finally, Dick said, "I'm not coming back. I'm sorry, Trish. I really am."

Something in his voice pierced my chest cavity like a bullet from a gun. Pain radiated out from the entry wound, a carved path directly to my heart muscle forming rapidly, and it took every ounce of self control left in me not to sob.

He wasn't coming back. I'd known that since he left.

It was one thing to hear the words, to know. Then it was another to truly feel it. To feel left behind. To feel abandoned. To be unloved. All those things at once. Droplets seeped out onto my cheeks as I desperately tried to hold them in.

Dick couldn't know how much he hurt me—the good girl inside told me that. So I kept my tears hidden as best as I could. Balling up any anger I might have left, I disguised my voice, and spat the words through the phone, " _Fuck_ you."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and ended the call after saying them, throwing the device back at the mattress. It bounced off somewhere but I didn't stick around to watch. The moment I felt I didn't need to hide it anymore, I was overcome.

A sob wracked my whole body and I cried, sliding off the end of the bed onto the rug.

My head fell into my hands as my shoulders shook. I sat there on the floor, sobbing in a Pink Panther t-shirt and cotton pajama shorts covered in unicorns, creating a visual contradiction that was all but pathetic.

I was at my breaking point. That much was clear. _It was just a brief meltdown_ , I thought. _A loss of sanity that would be gone when the sun came up_.

"Patricia..."

The heavy, empathetic voice I heard was unexpected. But I lifted my head slowly, although I would startle in any normal circumstance, pulling my knees to my chest as I did. Bruce stood in the doorway to my bedroom, looking down at me with saddened features.

My shoulders hiked up briefly in an expression, "He's not coming back. Not for you, not for me—not for anyone. What did I do, Bruce? What did _I_ do?"

He exhaled a breath, but he walked toward me. Without hesitation he lowered himself to the floor to sit directly beside me. Bruce reached out an arm, most likely to be put around me, to pull me in. And the more I thought about my questions, the more I didn't mind.

Instead, another sob ripped its way up my throat, and I fell into him before he could move his arm past his shoulder's position. Both his arms encircled me, scooping me up, the second I did. "I'm so sorry, Trish," he spoke quietly, comfortingly stroking my hair. "You shouldn't be caught in the middle of this."

Inside I didn't believe him. Not really. But I wasn't in a position to rebuttal anyway. In my tears, I muddled through a hopeless question, "Why...does everyone...keep _leaving_? I don't...understand."

"Things change. People change. Dick's not gone—he's always going to be there for you. He just doesn't live _here_ anymore. No one's leaving you," Bruce answered, gently.

My small grievances and annoyances with Bruce had come to their peak level, but what he said did comfort me to some extent, and I gave up trying to keep myself in despair. That's what you do when you start to feel sad.

You feel sad a little and subconsciously you want to make yourself sad a lot. So you listen to sad songs, you tell yourself little white lies, anything to give the feelings you have some validation. I had a habit of doing that—of falling into that trap.

Tonight, it was time for it to stop. So I rode out the rest of the more calm tears that followed there with Bruce on the floor at the foot of my bed, our arms wrapped around each other with my face buried in his shirt.

In the morning I felt different. It was like my anger and frustration made a bubble of air, and the previous night's crying session let some of it out. I felt lighter. The first thing I did was get dressed in clean clothes and put my hair in a ponytail.

There wasn't much to do but keep going. So that's what I did. I headed downstairs to find Bruce and Jason in the dining hall, sitting at the table. Alfred was just putting out breakfast. I hated when Alfred made meals for me or did my laundry.

I hated when he cleaned my room or did any small task I could do myself. To me, Alfred was never the help. He wasn't a butler. Treating him like he was made me feel nauseatingly guilty. But, upon my entrance to the dining hall, Alfred pulled out a chair for me and insisted I sit.

Feeling a little emotionally weak from the night before, I sat. Bruce was at the head of the table as always. Jason sat across from me on the other side, in the general area where Dick used to sit.

 _Dick's not here_ , I thought. _Why do I even care?_

"Good morning, my dear Patricia," Alfred said, guiding my chair in as I sat. "I trust you slept well. Would you like something to eat?"

I nodded a little, looking up at him with a tired smile, "Sure. Thanks, dad."

He gave a quick kiss to the top of my head, squeezing my shoulder, and then retreated to the kitchen. There was a dash of uneasiness on him. Like he knew what had happened last night and was completely unsure how to handle me this morning.

After what I'd said and how I'd acted, I really couldn't blame him. "How _did_ you sleep?" Jason inquired suddenly, a little hesitation in each word. I turned in my seat to face forward, to face him.

"Fine," I shrugged a little. Then, I inhaled sharply, "Listen, I was thinking of getting some training in after breakfast. You in?"

Jason's brows knitted skeptically, "You're not... _busy_?"

"Nope. Next rehearsal's tomorrow. Wanna try to kick my ass or not?"

"I'm in."

A wide smile spread across his lips, the realization that I was in fact not kidding bringing excitement to his eyes. Bruce cleared his throat, pulling my eyes in his direction as he spoke, "Try not to break this one, okay?"

There was an essence of humor to his expression. It was obvious he was trying to hide a smile. "No promises," I replied, sitting back in my chair. "If he dies...he dies."

"Okay, Princess Pop-Culture-Reference. Prepare to have your cute little ass handed to you. I'm not so new anymore," Jason challenged, leaning forward as he spoke.

"Wait, if i'm Princess Pop-Culture-Reference, does that make you Prince Asshole?"

His features contorted into an expression of _seriously?_ as he tilted his head. Bruce folded down his newspaper and sat up a bit in his chair. "Alright, be nice at the breakfast table, please," he ended the conversation, though visibly amused.

A small smirk tugged up the right side of my mouth as I stared across the table at Jason. He was looking smug, shaking his head. He grabbed his fork off the table and aimed it at me, mouthing, "You're going down."


	3. Just A Joke

I pushed through the door and walked into my bedroom. The first thing I did was peal off my shirt, the fabric clinging to the curves of my body. It was yet another eventful night of patrol. Now I desperately needed a shower.

My sweaty clothes were dropped on the bathroom floor in a neat pile and then I pattered across the room in my underwear, to the cabinet on the other side of the room that held my towels.

I made it over there and plucked a random towel from the cabinet. In closing it back up, I halted before turning to leave. Something was off. Something was not right. My eyes quickly scanned the area for whatever it was that I was sensing.

Something had to be out of place. My vase still stood on the nightstand. There were sticky notes, notebooks, random pencils and pens spread across the dresser where Percy's home sat next to my laptop, and— _oh shit_.

Percy's home was a luxurious three story ferret cage that say atop a dresser in the corner of my room. The tall door to the deep first level was hanging open, not a rodent in sight. I rushed to the cage and looked over it carefully just to make sure I wasn't missing him.

But, the more I looked, the more I began to panic. Percy wasn't in his cage. "No…no, no, no, no, no," I was mumbling quickly, reaching through the cage door to check his little wooden house. I yanked my hand back, lurching like a startled cat when I found it empty, and shrieked.

"No! No- Percy? Percy! Oh, shit," I whirled to see the rest of my room, my eyes racing across every piece of furniture almost as fast as my heart was beating in my chest. "Ah, fuck. Percy, where are you?"

I dropped the towel I was holding onto the bed and got down on my hands and knees to peer under the bed frame. He was not there. Typically, when I called, Percy came looking. He wasn't the best at knowing his name all the time, but he never ignored me.

He would perk up, or scurry out of where he hid—he never stayed put. Worry spiked my heart rate further as I got up to stand. The next place I checked was the bathroom. He was not there, either.

"Hey, what happened? Are you okay?"

I stepped out of the bathroom at the sound of Jason's voice. He stood at my open door, soaking wet with nothing but a towel hanging around his hips, with a shade of concern coloring his features. At this point, his shirtlessness was nothing new.

Me being in only my underwear was a little new, but I didn't think about it. All I cared about was getting Percy back in his cage safely. The other worries were too far back in my mind.

"No!" I shouted a bit in my panic. "I can't find Percy!"

"Your fucking Chinchilla? Damn it, Pennyworth. I thought something happened with you screaming like that!"

"Something did happen—did you not here me? Percy is out! He could be halfway across Wayne Manor by now! He's just a baby, Jason!"

Still finishing my sentence, I'd gone to check my book case near the door. Jason sighed heavily and took steps into the room. "Alright, fine. Where'd you already look?" he asked, glancing around the room.

"Practically everywhere. I just need to move this bookcase to check if he's behind it," I answered, gripping the side of the bookcase nearest me.

Jason pattered across the carpet to the bookcase and grabbed the other side. Together, we tried lifting it away from wall. The bookcase only wiggled in our attempt. But the piece of furniture was not as sound as it appeared to be.

I'd stepped in front of it to give it a frustrated tug, and that only made matters worse. The book case teetered forward as though it were going to fall right on top of my head. "Look out!" Jason shot forward, tackling me to the carpet.

It was a bit over dramatic, if you ask me. It wasn't a building—it was just a bookcase. Though, I was thankful that it didn't actually end up hitting me. My back hit the carpet, Jason's weight on my torso, and the bookcase hit the floor with a hard thud.

Books fell out and were crushed beneath it in odd places, most likely permanently damaging a few. Jason pressed his palms into the carpet on either side of my head to look over his shoulder at the mess.

I'd glanced that way momentarily, but my mind wandered quickly back to something else—the weight on my torso. My eyes shifted downward, only for a second, before rapidly shooting back up, "Uh...Jason? Feel a little breezy down there?"

There was a second of silence before Jason chuckled once. My features scrunched into one of disgust and confusion. "This isn't funny!" I admonished him, careful in the way I moved my eyes to his face.

His face was lit with a smile-smirk, looking smug, "Actually, it kinda is."

"You're naked, on top of me, and i'm only wearing underwear."

"I'm well aware."

"So get your fucking towel!"

"Do you wanna see my dick?" his eyebrows rose on his head in an expression. "Because that's what you're gonna see the second I get up."

All but fuming, I sighed heavily, glaring up at him. It wasn't an impossible situation, but it was sticky—no pun intended. My mind was racing. Trying not to think about what I could clearly feel against my skin. But that only worked so much.

Already there was an involuntary shade of pink across my cheekbones, I could tell that by the heat rising within them. I found myself in the exact same predicament i'd been in the first night he arrived at the manor.

My eyes were drawn in by the lines of his face, absentmindedly tracing them as I tried to make myself think. _It's so simple_ , I thought. _Just fucking speak!_ But I couldn't. It wasn't happening no matter how hard I tried.

I laid there in a kind of daze, muscles stuck in the same positions with no reprieve, fueled by something sinister—curiosity. The crystal blue of Jason's irises were shaded darkly in the blockage of the lighting above us. It brought an intensity to his features that broke my skin out in bumps.

A part of me wanted so badly to be able to squirm, to be able to do anything really—but still I did not move. Instead I watched him, breathing in the scent of his soap until my lungs burned, and relishing in the sensation of his fingertips trailing up my arm.

It was a trance that a part of me did not want to escape. If I was telling the truth, I would say that it actually felt _good_. My body only encouraged him in its reactions, a small gasp escaping past my lips as he traced my collar bones.

Then, just like that, the spell i'd been locked under was broken sharply at the sound of a throat clearing. Jason shot up, twisting to look behind him, and I pushed myself up on my elbows to see as well. It was Bruce.

My cheeks erupted in painful splotches of heat as dread and embarrassment filled the pit of my stomach. Jason was quick to dive for his towel a foot to my left and I averted my eyes until he'd gotten it back on again.

"What's going on in here?" Bruce questioned, looking between Jason and I with steely features.

My eyes glanced quickly toward Jason before settling on Bruce's face as I pushed myself to my feet. "Um, Percy got out of his cage—Jason was helping me find him," I explained, honestly. "We tipped the bookcase."

Jason scrambled to stand, and he tightened the fold of his towel as he sidled up next to me. Bruce's eyes moved from my face to Jason's in a straight line. "Where are you clothes?" he questioned next. He said it looking at Jason, but something told me he was asking both of us.

"I just took a shower," Jason answered, quickly.

At the said time, I said, "I was going to take a shower."

This whole scenario only looked more suspicious the more it was talked about. My eyes squeezed tightly shut in a grimace, and Bruce loosed a heavy sigh. "You, out," Bruce said, causing me to reopen my eyes.

Bruce aimed it at Jason, staring him down pointedly. Jason shrugged it off and sauntered out of my room, into the hall, taking his towel with him. And just as he'd left, Alfred appeared beside Bruce at the door.

In his hands, his held a ball of white fur securely against his chest. "Is someone missing a furry friend?" he inquired, reaching the door. There was something unamused in his tone—and I knew Percy must have done something annoying.

I surged forward and scooped Percy up in my hands, bringing him close and holding him tight, as I breathed a heavy breath of relief. "Oh, thank god! Where did you go, little man?" I asked, craning my neck to look down at Percy.

"Dear lord—why are you half naked?" Alfred questioned with concern.

"I'm getting in the shower," I answered. Then I looked up from Percy to the two men at my door and stepped forward, taking hold of the doorknob with one hand, "You're not supposed to be looking in here anyway."

With that said, I pushed my door shut and turned the lock. I got in the shower once Percy was securely in his house. There was no visible indication of how he got out to begin with. So I put a zip tie on the door to make sure it stayed shut while I showered.

There was no way that I was letting that happen again—especially when I was indisposed. Standing under the water of my walk-in shower, the heat fogged up the glass, creating a sauna effect.

My fingers eased over the lines of my collar bones, recalling the feeling the action had caused. Though, it didn't feel the same when it was my hand. I knew—somewhere deep down—it was because it wasn't _him_. I didn't want to need him. In any context, but especially not this one.

 _And yet_ , I thought, _you still do_.

After my shower I got dressed and went to bed. The next morning, I was once again out of the manor before the others were awake. I had many things on my schedule for the daylight hours of today.

The first was morning rehearsal with the girls. Second was a costume fitting for tomorrow's event. Then Barbara wanted to meet with me for coffee—something we hadn't done since before Jason arrived almost a month.

We went to a coffee shop on the upper East side of Gotham. Barbara's favorite. I didn't mind, because it was becoming mine, too. There was a neat bookstore right next door, with a tall archway between the two businesses, so you could go back and forth.

Barbara was already there when I arrived, holding a place in line two spots from the front counter. "Babs!" I called to her, letting the door fall closed behind me. She noticed me approaching soon after I called her name.

The redhead turned, holding out her arms with a wide smile, "Patty! How've you been, girl?"

I walked into her open arms with a smile of my own, wrapping mine around her athletic frame and holding on tightly. It was so nice to see her. "I don't even know where to start," I replied, sighing as I pulled away from her.

"That bad, huh?" she wrinkled her nose sympathetically.

"Dick's not coming home, Percy nearly died last night, and my body is betraying me. It's that bad."

We ordered our coffees and found a table near the archway to the bookstore, on the coffee shop side of the building. It was by the window, providing light and a view of the street, while also giving a view into the bookstore.

For a long pause of quiet, we simply sat there looking at each other. I sipped from my straw, ingesting the much needed caffeine. Barbara's eyes were slightly narrowed as she observed me. Obviously psychoanalyzing me before i'd even said a word.

It was a solid three minutes. I raised an eyebrow at her, continuing to sip, silently begging her to get on with it. Barbara then took a long drink from her steaming to-go cup and set it on the table top, looking at me seriously.

"You've got a crush on him, don't you?"

My features contorted into an expression of utter confusion and mild disgust, " _Who_?"

"What did you say his name was— _Jason Todd_?" she sat back in her seat, smirking as my face dropped. Inside, I knew she was right. Barbara was always right. But I made a pfft sound as my head recoiled, also sitting back in my seat.

It was the world's worst poker face but it was all I could come up with on short notice. "Are you kidding me? He's repulsive," I shook my head, wrinkling my nose.

Barbara tilted her head, seeing through my bullshit, "Obviously not repulsive enough to find him attractive. Have you slept with him yet?"

"Oh my god, Babs, no."

"But you want to."

I sighed heavily. Barbara's lips pulled into a wide grin as she'd realized she caught me. Honestly, it was a difficult question to answer. I'd obviously felt something, but I wasn't one to jump in bed with the first male that made me feel something—never had been.

Conceding defeat, I shrugged, exhaling, "There's something there, but it's so fucking tiny that my abhorrence of him literally tramples right over it."

"What's he done to get you so disgusted?" Barbara questioned, raising her eyebrow through a chuckle. "It's gotta be something huge."

My fingers picked at the cardboard around my plastic cup absentmindedly as I stared down the straw. There was a thing he'd done, though he was completely unaware. I was pretty sure I was the only one to ever care. To ever think of it.

Truly it wasn't his fault, but it was easier to blame him for it than not. It was incredibly unkind. I mentally scolded myself then at the thought of it—of the cruel thing I'd done.

"He replaced Dick," I spoke quietly, ashamed of my reasoning.

A hush fell over the other side of the table. I didn't dare look up from the lid of my cup, carefully examining the lettering and symbols etched in the plastic to keep myself busy, to appear unbothered and mildly uninterested.

Though, I felt like crying again. I'd placed so much on the shoulders of someone so unaware. That was my fault and my fault alone. "Trish..." I stole a flickering glance to find Barbara leaned forward against the table, a sincerely empathetic expression to her face. "No one is replacing Dick."

"Dick Grayson is irreplaceable—I know that. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

"He's not replaceable, but it feels like that's what Bruce is doing. Jason is obviously a replacement Robin. And I hate myself a little—okay, maybe a lot—because I might actually...like it, a little."

My forearms were rested atop the table, mirroring Barbara's position, but my torso was shrunken in on itself—shrinking away in preparation to be hit with her next words. Although, they weren't as bad as I was expecting.

"Who're you afraid is going to hate you over liking him? Dick? He wants you to be happy, to move on with your life. Not sit in your room like a shriveled prune and shout obscenities at poor Jason," she said, raising her cup to her lips.

I chuckled once, a little more out of instinct than true humor. I was too in thought. As usual, Barbara made perfect sense and spoke reason. But a new set of complications arose. The second I started being too nice to Jason, I would get shit.

That thought was almost more annoying than the present. _But_ , I told myself, _you would be doing the right thing_. _And that's more important. Right?_

The girls and I decided on a good, old fashioned sleepover as a way to rally for tomorrow night's performance. It was decided they'd come to the manor for the get-together at six o'clock, right in time for dinner.

Then we could simply eat, chat for a bit, then get enough sleep for the next day but still have quality girl time. I had my room ready at five and sat on my bed, comfortably situated against my pillows at the head board, reading.

It was five-thirty when I heard my door being pushed further open, thanks to the whine of the upper hinge. That thing had needed oiled for at least a year by now. I didn't look up from my book, though—I was too enthralled in it.

A weight dropped against the mattress, shaking it a bit, and my eyes flicked up from the black ink of the pages to find Jason laid out across the end of my bed. He was on his back, face visible around the right corner of my book.

Returning my eyes to the page, I sighed, "What is it now, Jason?"

"I'm so fucking _bored_."

"You're bored _already_?" I questioned in disbelief, before dropping my book into my lap, my left index finger as the place holder. "Have you even been out to the gardens?"

He only shrugged, eyes on my ceiling as if it were more interesting than my face. Who knew? Maybe it was. I hadn't looked at it for a while, and I can't say i'd ever compared it to myself. After a second, he finally turned his head to look at me.

"Whatcha readin'?" he jutted his chin toward my lap, eyes flickering that direction momentarily.

I held up the book in my left hand, turning it at an odd angle to make the cover visible, "Frankenstein."

A shade of intrigue colored his features as he propped himself up on an elbow, turning on his side to face me. "What part are you at?" he inquired.

"Victor just agreed to make another monster," I answered, taking a glance at the page I was on. "Although, I've read this about a hundred times already."

"You interested in reanimation?"

He'd huffed a chuckle, raising an eyebrow humorously. I dropped the book back into my lap, careful not to remove my finger—though, I probably could find my spot just fine, what with how many times i'd already read this scene.

I shrugged up one shoulder, "I love how poetic it is. It calms me."

"Right, you've got another show tomorrow. Are you _nervous_?" Jason asked, eyebrows knitted as he leaned in a little, features in disbelief at the question.

"Why's that so hard to believe?" I chuckled at his expression.

He leaned back to his original position, shaking his head with a neutral expression, "I don't know. You just don't really seem like the type to get nervous. Most of the time, you seem pretty fearless."

I stared at him—shoulders hunched a fraction, eyes squinted. It was hard to believe what he was saying. No one I knew would describe me as fearless, I knew that for a fact. But I didn't hold it against him because he really didn't know much about me.

Though, I was flattered by the accusation. "Well, no one's ever said that. But thank you," I nodded once, with a tiny closed-mouthed smile—my best attempt at not being a prune, as Barbara called it.

"Patricia, dear?"

My head tilted, perking up as my eyes found Alfred standing at my open doorway. He took two steps inside with a pleased expression to his face. What he'd said nights ago was brought back to me— _We had both hoped having another around would lift your spirits after Master Dick's departure from us_.

I knew his arrival meant the girls were most likely here, so I reached to the nightstand and plucked off a bookmark, stuck it in between the pages, then swung my legs off the bed. "Your friends have arrived," Alfred confirmed my assumption, as I slid off the bed. "I've seated them in the dining hall."

"Thanks, dad. I'll be right down."

He gave a smile and a nod, then disappeared into the hallway. My next action was to grab my zip-up hoodie from the back of my desk chair and shove my hands through the sleeves. I zipped it up to a level an inch below my chest.

That was the most comfortable spot—not too high, not too low. "You coming?" I asked, walking back to the bed. Jason, in the same position, craned his neck back to look up at me with a confused expression.

"You mean i'm actually invited?"

"No. I mean it's dinner time and we're all eating together."

He nodded once, a small grin pulling at his lips, "Yeah, that sounds better."

Scoffing, I gave a toss of my eyes. My hand reached out instinctively and pushed playfully against the side of his head, almost in the way a sister would, before I left the room. The whole walk to the dining room I was thinking about it.

It was something I did to Dick constantly. I had to remind myself of Barbara's words, having a legitimate argument with myself in my head as I reached the bottom of the stairs. That was a me and Dick thing, but it was also universal.

 _Nothing has to stay the same_ , I reminded myself. _Just let it go_.

I pushed through the door into the dining room, taking a deep breath to plaster on a smile for the guests. If I needed to talk about it, I would do it later, not at the dinner table. For this time period, I needed to appear cheerful as I was when I went to my room an hour ago.

Daya leapt up from her seat and dashed around the table to meet me as I entered. "Hey, babe," she chuckled, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. "Long time no see, right?"

"This is only, like, the hundredth time today," I laughed a little, hugging her back.

She was seated on the other side of the table next to Jason and Tiffany, respectively. I was on the closest side to the door, with Rebecca and Aaliyah to my left. Bruce was at the head, of course. Jason joined us only a couple minutes after I arrived.

He took his seat between my friends, wearing the smirk that was undoubtedly trademarked by now. "Evening, ladies," he greeted them, smoothly sliding into his chair.

I made a humorous gagging sound, pretending to be sickened, and the girls all laughed. It was like throwing a bucket of water on Jason's fire. He squinted across the table at me and somehow I knew what he was saying— _shut up, Pennyworth_.

So I stared back, popping an eyebrow, giving my very clear reply— _make me, bitch_. To that his jaw slacked, huffing a small chuckle as his head slowly shook. It brought an uncharacteristic smirk to my lips, along with something else.

Something desperately unwanted that made my face almost visibly drop to match the pang of dread in my chest. A light flush threatened to color my cheeks. I inhaled a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm myself as I averted my eyes.

There was no way I was doing this in front of the girls—and I sure as hell was not doing it where Jason could see me. Alfred entered the dining room then, and I almost breathed a sigh of relief. He carried in pizza boxes from the kitchen.

Alfred had asked me if there was anything specific I wanted to do for dinner, considering the girls were going to be eating with us, and i'd told him pizza would do. It was something eatable that simultaneously satisfied my need to not make Alfred treat me like his boss.

He could act that way with Bruce and subsequently Jason, because Bruce was in fact his actual employer. But I was his daughter. There was a stark difference that I intended to highlight any chance I was given.

With plates already on the table, Alfred left the boxes opened in the middle for us to pick and choose from. It allowed for a couple humorous moments in trying to pass the pizza around, to make sure everyone got what they wanted.

Aaliyah and Tiffany were incredibly indecisive, Daya wanted something of everything, and it seemed Jason and I were the only odd men out. I stuck with the pizza that had been right in front of me—some kind of garden pizza—and spent my time helping the boxes get around.

Once everyone had their selected flavors, we were finally able to sit in peace.

"So how long have you two been together?" Jason asked suddenly, causing my eyes to snap up from my plate, pausing my chewing.

He leaned back in his chair across from me, looking smug, with knowing eyes as he ate his pizza. I knew exactly what he was talking about—my little insinuation weeks ago. I may or may not have implied that I wasn't straight.

The point was to mess with him, to get him off my back all the while spreading a willful rumor for the cause of humor in a terrible situation. But I hadn't expected him to bring it up in the middle of dinner with my friends.

Of course, the girls had already heard about this ploy. Bruce, however, apparently had not. He stopped eating to look at me seriously. I knew because I could feel his eyes on me. I did not dare turn my head to see how he truly looked.

Instead I glared at Jason from across the table. "We've known each other since we met in kindergarten," I answered, cleverly going around his question's root point. "What's it to you?"

"You're just friends?" he raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

I raised an eyebrow of my own, countering, "Again, what's it to you?"

"Patricia," Bruce spoke up, drawing my eyes to him finally. He was already looking right at me. "You told Jason you were in a relationship with Miss Franklin, didn't you?"

It was like he was staring right into my soul, seeing every single white like i'd ever told. My lips folded inward in an expression as I nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to my plate, and Bruce sighed. He asked, "Why?"

And I answered with a confused expression, "Have you not seen the countless moments of sexual harassment going on around here?"

Bruce's eyes shifted from mine to Jason's in a slow, deliberately straight line. Jason leaned back in his chair, mimicking my previously caught-in-a-lie expression. My head turned almost mechanically in his direction, "You little shithead."

"Patricia," Bruce admonished me, before addressing Jason. "We talked about this, Jason."

"You talked about it?!" I practically shrieked, head snapping left to right to look between the only two males at the table.

"It's all fun and games, man. You're too easy to rile up, Pennyworth," Jason said, first to Bruce and then to me, smirking at the ending.

I was fuming—but I was also incredibly grateful for this piece of information. Jason wasn't making everything sexual because he actually wanted to have sex with me. It was simply because I was easy to annoy, and that was apparently funny to him.

At that, I dropped my pizza on my plate and sat back in my chair, making to get up. There was no more desire to sit at the table with them left in me. But Jason's voice stopped me. He lurched forward in his chair, "Look- i'm sorry, okay? I thought you knew it was a joke."

My muscles stiffened, pausing my movements, and I squinted at him. His voice sounded the most genuine it had been since we first met. "It's just a joke?" I prodded for confirmation, raising my eyebrows expectantly.

"Promise," he nodded.

I'd agreed to stay until the girls had finished dinner so we could head up to my room. Though I was relieved in some respect that it was just banter and nothing serious, something deep in my gut was—dare I say—disappointed.

After we ate, the girls and I went to my room as planned. I put a record on and we got out some nail polish. Partly for the sake of a girl's sleepover aesthetic, but mostly because we needed them done for tomorrow's performance.

Tiffany, Aaliyah, and Rebecca sat on my rug, comparing colors and chatting about designs while Daya was up on my bed. I sat in my office chair, my foot propped up against the desk's edge, with my knee in my throat in order to paint my toe nails.

It was a calm, peaceful atmosphere that pulled any heat from my cheeks and annoyance from my chest. I was free to loosen my shoulders and relax. That is, until Tiffany spoke up.

"Gotta admit, that was cool of him to apologize," she said, brushing red onto her finger nails. "Lot of 'em just flip you off and keep doing it."

Though that was true, I twisted to see her with a shake of my head, "Don't give him more credit than he deserves. The apology was more for Bruce than it was for me."

I continued brushing black paint onto my toes, but my mind was somewhere else. It wasn't like I hadn't ever had feelings for someone before—because I had, many times. They weren't always reciprocated, and I didn't always act on them.

In fact, most times I did absolutely nothing.

The small version of Barbara I had in my brain, my own personal voice of reason, insisted that I changed that. But part of me wondered if that was just my crush talking. Jason had lived in this house for almost a month and I still knew very little about him.

It was easy to have a crush on someone you don't know. Once you know them, that's the true test of your feelings.

In the morning, we all took turns using my bathroom before heading to the venue for the final rehearsal. I'd been practicing the task of singing while dancing all week, but I wasn't at all confident that was enough time.

I still felt like my voice was lacking a little too much. The girls assured me everything would turn out great, that the act itself would be entertaining even if my voice wasn't, and was somewhat an encouragement.

We were going to switch things up for this act. Not only adding me as lead vocal and front woman, we were changing routines. Daya decided that _Fetish_ worked best for my vocals, something more calm and sultry, so that routine would be first.

Then we would incorporate a transition to _Side To Side_. It was a last minute change but at least I knew i'd be able to sing the songs. _24K Magic_ was a little too much for my voice—i'd never be able to do it justice, or make it sound enjoyable.

I loved the choreography for _Side To Side_. It was easily my favorite out of all the performances we'd ever practiced.

After final rehearsal, then it was back to the manor to fetch my outfit and prepare my face of makeup. Daya didn't need to accompany me this time, but she did—bringing her makeup bag and outfit with her. I didn't understand why yet.

Not until I was standing in front of the mirror, leaning in to better see the fine lines of eyeliner and eyeshadow, and nothing I was doing seemed to work in my favor. It was a nightmare trying to get my false lashes on right.

Then the eyeliner was a little shaky from my mildly trembling hands. Now I was having the worst time trying to get my smoky eye to actually look smoky. Nothing at all was cooperating. Frustration and anxiety was swirling in my stomach.

My eyes were welling up as I let out a strangled sound of irritation and despair. "Dammit!" I shouted a little, sounding even louder in the emptiness of the bathroom.

Daya hurried into the small room and stepped up beside me in the mirror. "Babe, what's going on?" she questioned, resting one hand on her hip and the other on the counter beside her. "Talk to me."

"I can't get anything right! My makeup isn't working—i don't have time for this! We have to be on stage in less than an hour, and i'm still screwing with my eyeshadow!"

"Okay, baby, breathe. Put that down- just breathe with me for a minute."

Daya forced me to put down my applicator by moving my wrist toward the counter, then she turned me by my shoulders to face her. I didn't have the strength to fight her. All I wanted to do was curl up on my bed and cry.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, purposely over-selling it to show me what I was supposed to be doing and, a bit begrudgingly, I followed along. Letting my eyes shut, I took in a deep breath. It was almost like I could feel my ribs swaying, like an unhinged structure in a strong wind.

"And out..." Daya said, pointedly, before I heard her exhale loudly.

I blew out the air, despite gaining no real relaxation from it all. A fully formed tear dripped from my eye as I opened my eyelids to look at Daya. She kept her hands on my shoulders. "Now. What's really going on?" she asked me. "I've never seen you like this about a show—ever."

"Because I've never been the lead before, Daya! This is _really_ important and I just feel so unprepared. We practiced enough but i'm not ready. I don't want to mess this up, D," I vented, trying to hold my emotions back.

"Your mom is going to be so proud of you, Trish. Hell, she already is," Daya tilted her head.

I all but snorted, wiping my cheek, "How do you know that?"

"Because _I_ am."

Daya placed a hand below her collar bones in a gesture, her features turned serious with her statement. She had a habit of doing that—saying things so strongly that you couldn't help but feel every letter dig into your bones.

It took us several extra minutes, minutes we truly couldn't spare, but we fixed my face of makeup mistakes. I was still shaking when we arrived at the venue. It was a very nice hotel with a dazzling white interior.

When you walked inside, you felt like the air you breathed was expensive. That also contributed to my wracked nerves. The performance was high-brow in every possible way. And it scared me.

We waited in an area behind the stage, an actual back-stage set up just for things such as this. Quietly, the five of us talked through the performance, sometimes moving an arm or leg in a slow motion of the movement as we thought it through.

As it turned out, we were all a little on edge. I was simply the only one crying about it.

An announcer introduced our act right on schedule and the waves of applause from the crowd of expensive viewers washed back-stage. I hopped up the two steps it took to get to stage level and pushed through the thin curtain.

The others followed out on stage behind me, waving to the crowd as I did, though I split off from them to walk up to the microphone by the front edge of the stage. My heart was beating hard against my rib cage as I approached.

 _You've felt worse, you weak bitch_ , I thought. _Do your job_.

"Hello, everyone! Thank you so much," I smiled brightly as the applause slowly died down. "When I was five, my mother suffered a fatal stroke due to ischemic heart disease. This charity means a lot to me personally, and I hope the stories you hear and read tonight will bring its importance to you all as well. Please don't hesitate to give to this more than worthy cause."

And that was all I had planned to say. An event worker hurried up to remove the microphone stand as I stepped back to get into place with the other girls for the beginning song. _Fetish_.

The lyrics of the song did cause me concern. It was about a girl saying she knew someone was addicted to her, and she didn't mind. Though I told myself it had no real world implications because she also says she can't blame whoever it is, because she would be addicted to her, too.

It was a slightly egotistical way of putting it, but it was also self-empowering. So I tried to keep that in the back of my mind and use it to my advantage. Maybe it would make it easier to sing it knowing Jason was in the crowd somewhere?

"I'm not surprised, I sympathize..." I sang the opening line of the performance, following the same choreography as the girls behind and at my sides for the opening. "I can't deny your appetite…."

 _You got a fetish for my love..._

When the first deep bass hit of the song came, the other girls' choreography changed drastically, whereas mine stayed sultry and sexy. The lighting was dimmed for the start and then brightened to match the faster rhythm.

 _I push you out and you come right back…_

This song's relation to my life was uncanny. It couldn't help but cross my mind. And I had a truly devious thought. No, it wasn't like me—but being someone else while I was singing made me calm.

 _Don't see a point in blamin' you…_

I put an extra curl to my hips, a seductiveness to every move I made that I hadn't planned on before.

 _If I were you, i'd do me too…_

The two separate lines of choreography merged again for the final words of the chorus and then into the transition. It went black in the room, as planned, to facilitate the transition. For the second song, the leather jackets were off.

It was just us in fishnets, leather shorts, and mess crop tops. But there was something freeing about taking the jacket off. I could feel my usual dance energy coming back to me as Side To Side brought the lights back up.

We were starting at the slow spot before the final chorus of the song, to easily blend the slow of _Fetish_ into the upbeat of the second song. It was practically seamless.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much...say I should give him up..." I sang softer, more vulnerable, and a little emotional to mimic the original vocals. "Can't hear them, no, 'cause I…."

The long note was carefully placed. All the girls were doing a move in slow motion with me, snapping into the fast pace of the choreography for this song the second the beat picked up. My throat was a little more tired than I expected.

I kept singing, though, not caring about perfection as much as before. At this point I was only concerned with myself and having fun. Because I felt like myself when I was dancing, and I was doing that regardless of my vocals.

It brought an energy, an excitement to my veins that I needed. The feeling made it hard not to smile—so I didn't try not to. I finished out the performance happier than when I started.

We ended it in our signature positions to loud applause. My chest was heaving, but I smiled brightly, and exited the stage with the others. The five of us filed into the back-stage area and I couldn't contain a squeal.

"Holy fuck!" I exclaimed, excitedly. "That was so amazing! You guys were _incredible_."

"Us? Trish, did you hear yourself up there?" Tiffany questioned, laughing a little at the end.

"The performance tonight was top notch from _everyone_ ," Daya said, turning to look at us all. "I'm so proud of you girls!"

Bubbling over, I said, "God, i'm shaking! Everyone, come on, bring it in."

I held open my arms and stepped forward, and the others all smiled and chuckled as they joined in on the group hug. We were all so happy. We were all so proud. And we had every right to be.


	4. You Wish You Could

My fingertips digging into the concrete, my arms bore the weight of my lower half. The muscles in my arms were just as bruised as the ones in my legs. But it was impossible to move my right leg. Whatever injury had been caused left me no choice but to crawl.

So that's what I did. I pulled myself along, my suit scraping on the rough surface. The only thing that could stop me was a shoe. Solid tread pressed heavily on my knuckles seconds before I felt fingers gripping at my ponytail.

A hard tug yanked my head back almost fast enough to give me whiplash, and my only reaction could be an inaudible cry and a grimace. "Now, now...where do we think we're going, Princess?"

I stared up at the pale face of a madman, his rancid breath fanning against my face, and a sinking feeling reached my gut. _There was no getting out of this_. Jason was most likely dead or severely injured. And I was about to be both.

* * *

 **36 HOURS EARLIER**

* * *

"I trust that I can leave you two here alone without coming back to a mound of ashes," Bruce said, his attempt at sarcasm, as Alfred opened the front door.

Tossing my eyes, I snorted, "We'll be fine."

"If you aren't, at any time, call me."

"I got it, Bruce. Go be a billionaire."

I made a shooing motion with my hands, a small smile on my lips, and Bruce returned the smile before exiting the manor. Bruce and Alfred were leaving for a business trip to a partners' meeting in California, leaving Jason and I the manor for a couple days.

It wasn't anything I hadn't done before. Dick and I were left alone to our own devices many times. The only difference was that I was being left with a twelve year old this time.

Alfred had given me a hug and kiss before he and Bruce left the driveway. I was capable enough to handle taking care of the house in his place, though I was going to miss him for these days. The house felt empty enough without Dick around.

Now it was practically a carcass. After they'd gone, I made my way up to my room. There I pulled on a jacket and grabbed a book before walking to the gardens. It was one of those rare occasions when I literally had nothing to do.

No rehearsals, practices, or fittings. No chores, meetings, or hang-outs. Simply me and a day's worth of free time. So I went to my favorite spot to sit and relax in the gardens—a lovely, worn gazebo at the far back.

I'd urged Alfred to leave it untouched, and the decision payed off. The white paint was chipping. But vibrantly green ivy grew over it, wrapping around the supports, with moss on the roof. It made the look of the structure aesthetically pleasing.

Sitting inside it felt more magical. The greenery caused the gazebo to blend into the rest of the garden. It was like once you went inside, you disappeared—just for a moment you were somewhere completely different.

That was most likely why i'd secretly claimed it as mine when I was younger. The place gave me a little escape, a safe space, somewhere I could flee.

Even now, I laid out on my stomach across a blanket on the wood flooring, turning the pages of a good book, subconsciously hiding from what was inside the house. With the book choice and the soft sounds of the fountain not far away, I was filled with a nauseating calm.

This was true relaxation. The cool breeze drifting in with the gentle sunlight. The row of sweet peas Alfred and I had planted together was in full view out the tall archway in front of me. Poetic words of contemplation filling my mind.

I couldn't think of a better place to spend my alone time. It wasn't alone for as long as I'd hoped for, though. I'd been in the gazebo for about an hour before I heard my name shouted over the roses.

Sighing heavily, I shouted back, "WHAT?"

"Where the fuck are you?!"

" _Fuck_ me," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. Then, putting my book down, my index finger between the pages, I replied, "Find the fountain and take a fucking left!"

It was a solid minute before I could hear his feet crunching the gravel path from the fountain to the gazebo. I pushed myself up to sit on my knees as Jason walked into view through the doorway. "What do you want?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" he asked, stepping up to the archway. He leaned in to glance around at the inside of the structure, features painted with curiosity.

Lifting up my book into view, I answered, "Reading. Anything else?"

"What are you reading this time?"

"Walden."

"You got a thing for old books, huh?" he jutted his chin with his smirking expression—but this one was different. It wasn't smug, it was downright flirtatious. "That's cool."

He stepped inside the gazebo as he spoke, lowering himself to sit cross-legged against the frame of the archway. It was an irritation for him to enter. This was my space, during my alone time, and he was infringing on both.

Though, I couldn't help the slight slant to my lips that came with analyzing the expression his face held. "I like books with meaning, books that make me think," I corrected, calmly.

"Who are your favorite authors?"

"Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, Jane Austen, Shakespeare...Thoreau is really good, too."

Jason bobbed his head, lips a loose smile, "Cool. You look like a Jane Austen girl, but not _Pride and Prejudice_ , though—more like... _Persuasion_."

 _You perceptive bastard_ , I thought. Though, outwardly, I only nodded. My eyes flitted down to the book in my hand in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure in my chest, to lessen the increasing heat climbing up to my cheekbones.

Yes, I was easy to read when it came to books. But they were probably the easiest thing to guess about me. "Do you like museums?" Jason asked, one eye squinted in a mildly hopeful expression.

It was just a little odd, the sudden change in topic from books to museums. "Yeah…?" I narrowed my eyes skeptically, chuckling once at the question. "Are you trying to decipher my personality or something?"

"Actually, there's a history museum downtown I wanna check out, and I'm bored as fuck," he replied, sitting upright.

I stared at him in silence for a short moment. It was hard to tell if he was asking me because he wanted me to tag along, or because he was making conversation. Fueled by spiteful confusion, I asked, "Are you asking me to go with you?"

"Yeah."

Jason tipped his head, smiling a little sheepishly with his answer. It wasn't uncharacteristic of him to come bug me for a while but, usually, he'd eventually leave me alone. Asking me to hang out wasn't a common occurrence.

 _Although_ , I thought, _it's not like i'm doing something important_.

Sighing heavily, I scolded the little voice in my head urging me to go. "Fine," I rolled my eyes, officially closing the book in my hand. "Only for an hour—then i'm going home, with or without you."

"Alright, deal," Jason bobbed his head, before climbing to his feet.

I followed suit with a light exhale. I gathered up the blanket I laid on, folding it and placing it in my arm with my book, and then lead the way back to the house. Gotham was known for its history only second to its wealth.

There were a couple different museums in the city but the one we'd gone to had been one of my favorite places growing up. It was a Greek and Roman art museum.

We'd taken my car to get there—i was not about to leave myself no way out after my hour expired. Walking inside the building, a feeling of nostalgia overcame me as the memories flooded my mind in moving pictures.

It'd been at least a year since I last stepped foot inside. "Bruce used to take me here when I was little," I volunteered the information, as we made our way to the nearest display. "We came every Thursday."

"Why'd you stop?" Jason asked, looking over a sculpture of Patroclus.

My shoulders shrugged as I slid my hands into the pockets of my coat, "I got older...Bruce got busy...or bored. However you want to look at it."

"You, boring? Never."

"Fuck you, Todd."

"You wish you could."

Jason flashed a smug smirk in my direction as he stepped around me to move to another display, and I released a huff of air. This was undoubtedly a mistake, a time I will regret long after its passed. That much was clear already.

"It's funny, because it sounds a lot like it's the other way around," I gave my rebuttal as I walked by him, headed for the Roman sculptures I knew to be near the back. So, I didn't get to see a reaction.

But I knew it must've been a good comeback when he didn't immediately jump down my throat with something he thought was better. There was a marble bust that I always found fascinating enough to stare at for quite a while.

Juno, queen of the gods. The similarities between Greek and Roman mythology had always kept my attention. When I was younger, I preferred the Roman gods, simply because they had the same names as the planets.

Nine year old me didn't really understand why, she just thought it was cool. Things were a lot simpler back then. For me and the planets, it seemed. "Who's this?" Jason asked, stepping up beside me after a brief moment of silence.

Sighing, I answered, "Juno. She's-"

"Basically the Roman equivalent of Hera. Although, I kinda doubt she was as much of a bitch."

My head tilted to look up at him, I simply stared. It wasn't an interruption I was prepared for. So it was safe to say I literally had no response for it. His eyes shifted from the marble features to my face in a slanted line, and his right eyebrow lifted.

"What?" he questioned, neutral in tone. Then, turning his head a little more toward me, his tone turned spiteful, "Thought I was just some uneducated dumpster baby? I can read."

My expression changed just a little, shifting from surprised to a calm look of intrigue. "I figured you could read—Frankenstein, remember?" I replied, smiling a little at my humor.

It was a genuinely pleasant surprise for me to find out he had somewhat extensive knowledge of mythology. To what extent, I didn't know for sure. But it was nice to know we had more than a nineteenth century novel in common.

My mind didn't understand why I was relieved at a second common interest, but the rest of me did. Jason's lips hung in a loose, closed-mouthed smile before turning back to the sculpture. He jutted his chin at it as he asked, "What's so special about her—to you?"

"There's just something about her expression...I don't know how she feels. I've spent the past eleven years trying to figure it out," I answered, turning to look at the sculpture as well.

"Well, what's your first guess?"

"She looks pensive...maybe dreadful?"

Jason hummed a short sound of thought. For a second, my gaze flickered from the marble goddess to the sculpted design of his face. He looked as though he wouldn't have thought that to be my guess but was pleasantly surprised by it.

It was interesting to him. I'd never been interesting to anyone—not in this way. Once you got to know someone they became boring. There was nothing new to discover. Dick knew me better than anyone, maybe even better than Alfred.

And Dick had left. It occurred to me then that, maybe, he simply got bored with me. Could that be the reason he was okay with leaving me behind, too? Is that why he wouldn't come back even though I genuinely needed him?

"Like something you see?"

I blinked, brought out of my thoughts by a voice. Already I'd known it to be Jason's. But it didn't quite register why he'd spoken to begin with until I'd blinked for a second. Then I immediately moved my eyes back to the marble.

The realization that i'd been staring caused a pang of embarrassment in my gut and the airbrush of blush along my cheekbones. "Sorry," I squeaked, before clearing my throat to speak up. "I was thinking."

"About what?" he inquired, sounding genuinely curious despite his humored chuckle.

I shook my head as I inhaled, then turned my whole body to face him, "Nothing important. Come on, it's your first time here—i'll give you the veteran tour."

The museum was fairly empty, so it was easy to skirt around at whatever pace we wanted. We could stop for long periods at randoms paces if need be. It was the worst thing to spend time and money going somewhere like a museum or the zoo, only to be rushed through and not allowed to enjoy it.

Thinking of that brought back memories of the time Dick took me to the Gotham City Zoo. I recall being at least eleven, but I could've been younger.

It was the first time Bruce was supposed to take me to the museum but for some reason he could not—the excuse back then was that he was just too busy that week, but even eleven year old me knew that was bullshit. He was busy. Busy being Batman.

Jason looked at me curiously as we exited the museum, "How old were you when he told you?"

"Um...fourteen. He didn't really tell me, though, he just kinda let me find the cave. Dick did most of the talking—no shocker there."

"You talk about Dick a lot."

"Yeah, he's important to me. Jealous?"

He made a scoffing sound, turning away with a toss of his eyes. I was proud of myself for inciting such a reaction. Usually it's the other way around. "How exactly does someone get that status?" Jason asked, as we stopped by the street.

"Your name is Alfred, Bruce, or Dick," I answered, a bit sarcastically. Then, tilting my head, I let my eyes wander across the street as I made an addition, "Or...I suppose you could spend enough time with me that i'm comfortable around you. Yeah, that'd probably be your best bet."

"There's not, like, an application I can fill out?"

The lines of his features were humorous, tone sarcastic, but there was something about the way he smiled that made me second guess it all. My eyes seemed to be indefinitely stuck in the tractor beams of his own as I replied.

Shrugging, my lips curved up a little, "I figure if I make it a little difficult, the good ones will stick around."

Nodding slowly, he squinted an eye at me in an expression. "That's actually a smart plan. Weed out the assholes before you waste your time on someone that's just gonna leave you. Right?"

It was in the specific contortion of his features that I recognized the intonation. "Ah, yes," my face turned to an unamused glare as I spoke venomously sarcastic. "Mock my daddy issues as if you don't reek of them yourself. Very attractive."

"You think I'm attractive?"

Sighing, I rolled my eyes, "I hate you."

"I know," he smirked back at me. With a brief glance upward, he added, "I, uh, think it's been more than an hour."

Instinctively, my eyes shifted upward as well, taking note of the dusty blue painting the sky. The sun was going down. It'd obviously been a few hours. Without a clock right in front of me I didn't know exactly how many.

But it was probably a lot. I nodded slowly, moving my eyes back down from the sky. They landed on his eyes and, a second after they did, his moved to meet mine. An eyebrow rose on his forehead questioningly.

Questioning and expectant. Waiting for me to declare my departure for the manor. Though, I didn't find myself wanting to leave as much as I originally anticipated. It felt nice being out and about in the city. I rarely did anything out of the manor not involved with work.

Giving a soft, closed-mouthed smile, I shrugged up my shoulders, "Oh well."

As his eyebrow lowered, those crystal irises gained an extra ounce of brightness, the corners of his lips tugging up. The look was magnetic. It was tangible—I could feel it in my gut. A wild thought entered my mind, and my gaze flickered toward his lips.

They were so accessible, so kissable. _I could do it_ , I thought, _just surge forward and do it_. But I didn't. Instead, I swallowed and averted my eyes—even though all I wanted to do was keep looking.

I prayed Jason didn't notice. Even more so that he wouldn't say anything about it if he did.

He surprised me, drawing my attention, when he took a step toward me. His arm was held out toward me, like he was expecting me to take it, as he tipped his head in an expression. "Come on," he said. "Let's get pizza."

We did, in fact, get pizza. But we ended up back at the manor with it. It was easier to get comfortable and relax at home. I set up my laptop on the coffee table in the sitting room and opened up my Netflix account.

The pizza boxes sat on the table beside it. Jason sat on the floor, back against the front of the couch, while I sat comfortable up on a couch cushion. I scrolled through the suggested with one hand and held a slice with the other.

It wasn't usual for me to have time to actually finish anything I watched, so there were a million different titles only partially watched. I didn't really know what I felt like watching—if anything.

So I kept scrolling, waiting for something to hit me, until Jason snorted. "All three High School Musical movies are in your 'recently watched'," he pointed out, humored.

"Yeah. What of it, dweeb?" I replied, around a bite of pizza.

"Zac Efron's a total douche."

"So are you."

"You read Thoreau, why the fuck would you watch _High School Musical_?" he questioned, genuinely perplexed as he twisted in his position, craning his neck to look up at me.

Scoffing, I leaned back to hike up my leg, shoving my foot into his shoulder, "Don't make me come down there, asshole."

Jason bent away from my reach until I'd retracted my leg up onto the couch. "What are you gonna do, sing me to death?" he quipped, chuckling. "Efron didn't even sing his songs in the first movie."

I paused at that comment, reclining just slightly, and I squinted. If anything, just to make sure I was seeing him correctly. "You just gave yourself away, dumbass," I said, a smile threatening my lips.

"What? It's a fact."

He tried to play it off—shrugging and shaking his head as he looked away from me, all casual and normal. But I wasn't about to drop such a bombshell piece of information. The way he'd said it gave it away. He watched it, too.

"You little shit," I reached out a hand, pushing the side of his head. "You're the _worst_ fucking liar."

Jason swatted at me, but turned quickly as his hand latched on my wrist. All it took was one strong tug to yank me off the couch. He was grinning while I was protesting, fighting him as my body lurched forward off the edge, dropping onto his lap.

The coffee table was bumped, rattling the things it carried. I'd been completely unsuspecting of this turn of events. If anything, I assumed he'd simply fight back from where he sat. Bringing me down to his level wasn't on my mind.

Now I sat awkwardly positioned on his thighs, but I still had the upper hand. I was simply better at fighting than he was. We'd trained together for a little while but I knew more than he'd learned yet. I used that to my advantage.

Heat was flaring in my cheeks. I twisted my arm just right, quickly moving my fingers around his wrist, now the one in control of at least that scenario. After doing so, my other hand pressed on his shoulder, forcing his upper body forward to yank his arm behind his back.

It happened in a matter of seconds. The only thing he had time for was to groan once it was done. I'd positioned myself to straddle him in order to keep a better grip. "Comfortable?" I asked, a bit smug.

"Damn, Pennyworth. You're into some kinky shit," he grumbled his reply.

The words only worsened the heat in my cheeks. I could only assume they were fully pink now. Sighing, I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. _Make him stop_ , I requested, of whoever might be up there.

I released his arm and sat back. Jason sat upright with a groan, hand moving to his shoulder, and his nose scrunched tightly on his face. "You'll live," I told him.

"I don't know...I think I might need you to kiss it better."

He'd tipped his head back, smirking a little at me, and I was once again at war with myself. Half of me wanted to slap that look right off his dumb face. The other half wanted to play along. Theoretically it wouldn't hurt if I did.

But that was no guarantee. Bruce didn't care if Dick dated someone, though who he ended up dating wasn't supposed to be his partner. Surely Bruce would find this unacceptable. Then again, that thought almost made me want to do it even more.

Curiosity and spite were the two things that fueled me, that controlled me. And both of them were screaming at me. It was no longer a whisper. Giving in to the shouts of the spite, I reached up a hand to pull aside the fabric of his t-shirt, and I placed a kiss on the skin of his shoulder.

It was short-lived, quick and painless. As I sat back, releasing the shirt fabric to retract my hand, Jason's eyes followed mine. They were filled with an intensity that sent a small shiver along my spine.

"Better?" I tried not to whisper, but failed.

He sighed shortly through his nostrils, eyes flickering indecisively between mine and what I knew to be my lips, before shaking his head. "Fuck it," he said the words beneath his breath.

Jason's hand slid to the back of my neck, leaning forward as he pulled me in, and the space between us was closed indefinitely with a lustful swiftness. Instinctively my eyelids fell closed at the touch of his lips against mine.

Our lips were only touched for a moment, before they were open and we were all but devouring each other. It brought a nervous roll to my stomach that broke out my arms in bumps.

His other arm snaked around my middle, palm pressing flat against my lower back, and I gave my hands permission to wander. They moved to his exposed collar bones and up his neck as our tongues rolled and fought.

It was utterly satisfying. So many times I'd wondered what it would feel like to simply reach out and touch him. To caress the skin of his cheeks, lose my fingers in his dark hair. So, I did just that.

Something unnamed deep in my gut was fueling me. I couldn't even begin to explain it. All I knew similar to it was what it felt like to be burned. When you only touch the heat for a split-second, yet still you pull your hand away with a sharp sting.

The burn was combining with the burning of my lungs. I needed to breathe. But I wanted to breathe him. I'd tasted him and now I didn't want to taste anything else. Not yet.

Though, the need for oxygen was mutual. I knew when he broke the kiss, gulping in air with his nose still close enough to brush mine, and I took the opportunity to gasp in a much needed breath. All that could be heard was our inhaling and exhaling.

Still, there was something poetic about it.

Our beings hung there in the almost-silence, until a gruff exhalation cut through it, filling my hears with a following voice. "Holy shit," Jason breathed.

"Don't talk."

My hands cupping the sharp lines of his jaw, I pulled him closer. I felt no protest in the way his lips swallowed mine. His palms flat against my back, my chest was flush with his, our hips incredibly close. I was lost in it all.

And I didn't want to be found. At least, not any time soon. All I wanted was to keep feeling this way. This addictive, unexplainable way. I haven't exactly had many suitors in my lifetime. A lot of guys I was interested in were too intimidated by my name.

Pennyworth was famously forever linked with Wayne. Bruce never seemed to mean any harm to these guys, but I knew he had fun with the fear he instilled in them. Though nothing he said or did could've stopped Dick from falling for Savannah.

Believe me, Bruce tried. Part of me wondered even still if Dick would've turned out differently had he not gotten involved. Maybe he wouldn't hold so many grudges against Bruce for his childhood?

My train of thought was disrupted then. Jason, an arm tight around my torso and hand against the ground, lifted up enough to turn us. He laid me down against the floor rug in a swift, fluid motion, before leaning back to pull his shirt over his head.

I'd seen him shirtless more times than I probably care to count, but it was an entirely different feeling in this context. The sight of his skin sent an anxious bolt of electricity down my spine. It landed in my gut with an unparalleled heat.

Instinctively I reached out, tracing the lines my eyes carved with the tips of my fingers, his chest rising and falling beneath them with a bit of labor. The thought occurred to me that maybe— _just maybe_ —i was the reason for the exertion.

As far fetched as it seemed, the idea only made me crave more of him. I've never wanted someone this much. And I've never been this close to having them.

With a palm against the rug on either side of my head, he leaned in, and we found ourselves in the exact same position we'd been in before. This time, his lips traveled a straight path to mine, meeting them deeply, hungrily.

I didn't hesitate in kissing him back just as hungrily—my arms curling around his neck, fingers lost completely in his tousled hair, the acts keeping him closer than I ever thought i'd want him to be.

It was curious, the way my body reacted to his. The pulsating waves of sensation pushing and pulling me to move in different ways. I felt every uncontrollable urge and there was finally no obligation to ignore them. I could act on whatever I pleased.

No one could tell me not to enjoy his fingertips beneath the hem of my tank top, or the weight of his hips against mine and how it made me shudder.

Jason's hand slid down the back of my leg from thigh to just below my knee and pulled it up to hook around his waist. He'd attempted to do the same with the other, but he didn't need to—I was already onto his thought process.

The new heat, the new pressure, sent a wave of electricity up my spine. It arched my back off the rug, and Jason moved his lips from mine to the newly exposed front of my neck. A soft, quiet moan escaped me, my fingers tightening around locks of his hair.

Then, a bland telephone ring stabbed right through the fairly quiet room. I hadn't quite stopped to think about where I was, what I was doing, who I was doing it with until that sound filled my ears.

Even still I didn't want to let go. Not for anything. But I knew the sound to be coming from my cell phone. I could recognize that stupid ringtone anywhere. It was Bruce. If I didn't answer, he would only get worried and probably come home early.

So, reluctantly, I dropped my hands to the fronts of Jason's shoulders. "Jay. Jason. I have to answer it," I said, struggling to breathe in enough oxygen to speak.

He groaned against my neck, "Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes, it's Bruce. If I don't answer, he'll think something's wrong."

"Something _is_ wrong, Pennyworth—he's cockblocking me."

I snorted and gave his shoulders a somewhat gentle push. Jason sat back, and I untangled myself from him to reach for the phone, but the immediate cold I felt all over my body wasn't at all worth it. My phone was vibrating across the glass coffee table, wailing.

The second I got it in my hands, I answered it, "Hey, Bruce. What's up?"

It was difficult not to sound completely out of breath. There was only a split-second hesitation before Bruce's voice came through the speaker. "Just checking in," he replied, calmly. "Thought I'd see how it was going with you and Jason."

I held a breath I probably shouldn't have. It all clicked in my mind. I've known Wayne Manor was wired with cameras for years. The untimely nature of Bruce's phone call started to make sense the more I'd thought about it.

It was embarrassing. I didn't know for sure if it was true, but I had no choice other than to act like it was. Forcing my voice into a neutral tone, I said, "It's going fine. The asshole hasn't bothered me all day."

"Patricia," Bruce sighed through the phone.

"Dude, i'm twenty years old-"

"Clearly."

Now it was my turn to sigh, "Everything's fine, okay? It's six o'clock, go eat dinner."

Of course, it was just past nine here in Gotham, but it was six in California. It was an easy calculation. Bruce caught my knowledgeable gesture with a small chuckle. The kind sound was warm coming through the speaker.

He didn't sound like I knew he would if he were truly calling for the reasons I feared, so I was able to relax a little for the rest of the call. "Goodnight, Patricia," Bruce said.

"Night, Bruce."

With that, I ended my side of the call. I slid my cell phone back onto the coffee table and scrubbed my face with my hands. Yes, knowing Bruce would blatantly disapprove made me want to do anything I felt like doing with Jason.

But, in reality, the thought of Bruce finding out terrified me.

Bare arms eased their way around my torso then, hot breath fanning on my exposed neck, causing me to lift my head in reaction. "Where were we?" Jason's voice was low, lips brushing my ear. My skin broke out in a set of bumps, but I couldn't let myself do this again.

The bravery i'd had before was gone. "It's late, Jason," I said, pulling away from him. "I have a show tomorrow, remember? Gotta get enough sleep."

I pushed myself from the floor and grabbed my laptop off the table, then headed for the hallway. "Seriously? Come on- what am I supposed to do with _this_?" Jason questioned. He was leaned back against the front of the couch, gesturing toward the center of his pelvis as I turned to see him.

Smirking, I replied, "Something tells me you have _plenty_ of experience taking care of yourself."

I'd tilted my head in a teasing, patronizing expression, and he narrowed his eyes while shaking his head at me. It brought up a boiling-over set of chuckles as I left the sitting room.

That night I barely slept at all. I tossed, I turned, I repositioned a thousand times—but I couldn't get comfortable. Fingertips pressed to my skin in phantom feelings, lingering like ghosts. It was impossible to turn off my mind long enough to sleep.

When morning came, I was forced to get up and around at an ungodly hour, then be out of the house for final rehearsal before the show this evening. I didn't see Jason before I left the manor. Typically, both he and Bruce were asleep when I left.

Either that or Bruce was down in the cave—whichever way you look at it, he was absent. I got to the venue just a little later than usual. The girls were already there ready to start rehearsal. For this performance we were doing Gaga.

And when we do any Lady Gaga songs, we go all out. This time the theme for the charity was silver and royal purple. So Tiffany came up with a complimentary outfit that would match the color scheme—one piece, bathing suit looking outfits made of shimmery tinsel.

Wearing it felt like being wrapped in Christmas garland. But the outfits alternated the rich purple and sparkly silver, and they actually looked to fit in with the venue decor quite nicely. Tiffany, Aaliyah, and Rebecca all wore purple, with Daya and I in silver.

Our makeup looks matched our coordinating outfits. This time we were performing in strap on heels—not something too uncommon, just a bit bothersome. Though, converse wouldn't exactly go with the theme for the event.

We did the final rehearsal and worked out any last minute kinks, then it was off to get our outfits and put them on, along with the complicated makeup looks.

The girls came to the manor to get ready in my room. It was easier to match makeup when you were next to each other rather than over the phone or through pictures. There were makeup palettes spread across my bathroom counter, flecks of glitter everywhere.

Once again we were using glitter eyeshadow. It looked like a glitter bomb went off in my bathroom. I slid the backs on my earrings while Aaliyah and Tiffany shared the glitter palette, taking their turns with the mirror.

Together, we were at least eighty-five percent ready.

I sat on the end of my bed, crossing my left leg over my right, to better slide my feet into the high heels. "You know, if your dad's gone for the weekend, we gotta throw some kind of party," Rebecca said, dropping onto the bed beside me.

She started buckling on her heels and I chuckled. "If you could guarantee that nothing would get broken, I would agree with you," I replied, jokingly.

"Did someone just say 'party'?"

My eyes darted up to the open bedroom door at the sound of Jason's voice. He stood just outside the doorway wearing a suit, fidgeting with his tie. Deep down I knew he would probably go to the show—after all, he'd gone to every single one since he got here.

But I hadn't been expecting it in the forefront of my mind, so I was a little surprised when I saw him all dressed up and ready to go. "Need some help with that?" I asked, uncrossing my legs to stand.

Jason's nose wrinkled, "Fuck no. I got this."

"Obviously," I sighed as I crossed the room to stand just in front of him, then swatted his hands away before pulling out the pitiful knot he'd attempt to tie. "Wide end under the small end to the left, across the small end to the right, up into the neck loop from underneath, down through the loop."

I narrated my actions as I retied the tie around his neck. Jason clearly was not even paying attention anyway. His eyes were trained on mine, watching me, and I did my best to ignore it despite the light flush of my cheeks.

After patting the finished knot, I took a step back with an exhale, "There. Just adjust it to where you want it."

"You've tied a lot of ties, huh?" his question was rhetorical.

"Yeah, but Dick got it pretty quickly."

I gave a small shrug and hurried back to the bed where my jacket lay draped across the comforter. Daya came from the bathroom to get her jacket as well. "Hurry up, girls—we've gotta be there in fifteen minutes," she called, mostly to the two still in the bathroom.

The time reminder was much needed, considering I had no real idea of what time it was at that moment. It prompted me to swiftly pull on my jacket and check my bag for anything I might be missing. The last minute check.

Tiffany and Aaliyah scurried from the bathroom after a few more seconds to get their jackets from the bed, and Rebecca stood to get hers as well. We were almost all ready. My mind was so focused on not forgetting anything that I almost missed the next exchange entirely.

"I didn't know we had company," Aaliyah's voice interrupted my focus for a momentary glance. I knew she meant Jason, still standing at the door. "You really know how to clean up, Jason."

My eyes involuntarily rolled. Her tone was sickeningly sweet, and I only needed one guess as to why. She'd made it clear she thought he was 'dreamy'—to use her own word—already. It was a matter of time before she started trying to flirt.

I'd acted repulsed by him the last time we talked about him. But, given what happened last night, I wasn't sure just where I stood anymore. Still, I couldn't deny how her words made me feel—like I had something to defend.

Like I needed to protect my spot, as if it were mine to protect, because she was trying to steal it. I took a deep breath to keep myself calm, focusing on my bag, as he replied, "Thanks—not as much as you do, though-"

"Don't we need to be leaving?" I questioned, interrupting the conversation as I turned to face everyone in the room.

Daya, grinning, nodded as she pulled on her jacket. "Come on, ladies," she said. "We've got ten minutes. Let's go."

Tiffany and Rebecca finished up and were ready to go. Seeing as I was ready first, I took the initiative, and started for the door. As I passed through it, I grabbed Jason's wrist and pulled him down the hall toward the stairs.

He didn't fight me as I'd expected. Instead, at the top of the stairs, he moved his hand up into mine to hold on. Part of me wanted to say screw it and give into what I knew I wanted. And the rest of me screamed to let him go.

So, at the bottom of the stairs, I dropped his hand and walked a little faster to reach the door. The others weren't too far behind us. We took the separate vehicles we'd come to the manor in to the venue. A shiny expo center in the heart of the city.

It was a slightly bigger audience than usual, but that didn't scare me near as much as the idea of doing this performance with hungry eyes in the crowd. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready to deal with this.

The five of us plus Jason walked into the expo center. An event worker met us at the door to take our group to the area we would wait in until we were called to perform. Jason decided to split off from us then to find a spot in the audience to watch.

"Are you sure? You can come hang out with us if you want," Daya said. Then, draping an arm around my shoulders, grinned through her next words, "Trish would love it."

Jason smirked, but shook his head, "That's alright. Break a leg, though."

His eyes shifted to mine, and he gave a quick wink before turning to walk into the vast sea of even goers. As soon as he was gone, I turned on Daya, pulling away from her as I glared. "I hate you!" I whisper-yelled, embarrassed.

"You _love_ me," she tilted her head with a smile.

"Yeah..." I grumbled, with a disappointed sigh.

She laughed at the expression I made. Then the five of us followed the event worker to the backstage area. We did our usual pre-show refreshers and warm ups, talking through the way the performance was supposed to go.

Of course tonight's song was _Poker Face_ —practically the most popular Lady Gaga song of the two-thousands. Once again we were performing a song with sexual innuendos while Jason was there to watch, and once again I would have to pretend like I didn't notice.

After a short while, we were called on stage. The lights were dimmed and we took our places before the familiar first notes of the music began to play, signaling the start of the show.

The lights pulsed softly to match the changes in the music, the first big bass beat starting our choreography. It was a little fast-paced for us dancers. Though, it was still interpretive. Daya's vocals were perfect for the lyrics.

Her voice already reminded me of someone like Gaga years ago. Now she was actually singing one of the songs. I was in awe of it while acting out the movements of the choreography. It felt good just being a dancer again.

Dancing while singing simultaneously was not at all my thing.

The performance was ended with eruptions of thick applause from the audience and we exited the stage. Wearing high heels for the dancing was not too enjoyable, but I survived without injury, and so did the others.

After the show, we were tasked with cleaning up and then mingling to sell the charity's message—as per usual routine. So that's what we did. It only took a moment to get our makeup straightened and then we were out in the crowd.

The five of us split apart to chat up random event goers. I talked to a nice, older couple who were obviously too rich for their own good. You can always tell when you're talking to old money—they wear it like a badge.

But, I guess, didn't I?

I'd just finished talking them into a large contribution when my phone vibrated in my clutch. So, I excused myself to check it. When I pulled it out, I realized it wasn't my cell phone. It was my bat phone. Someone was in trouble.


	5. Not Going Anywhere

It was another emergency on the lower West side. That area of Gotham was becoming more infiltrated by Syren's people by the second, it seemed.

Jason and I—as Robin and Black Sparrow—dropped onto the roof of an abandoned factory. Originally, this mission was only to stop a robbery a few blocks from this location. But we needed to know where exactly these people were hold up.

If not the warehouse from before, where? So I made the call to let a few people go. Then, we followed them to this building. I stepped up to a broken skylight to get a look inside. There were minimal lights.

From what I could see, there were only half a dozen goons, all of them packaging up large boxes. With what, I didn't know. I couldn't tell from my position. "What do you think they're up to?" Jason asked, quietly, perching beside me.

I shook my head slowly, "The fuck if I know. But, if they're working for Syren, it's nothing good."

"What is this guy's fucking problem, anyway?"

"He's pissed he got locked up for murdering his wife."

"That's it?"

"Well...and his daughter tried to kill him."

I cupped my hands around my eyes, leaning into the glass. It was hard to see with the poor lighting. But then something all too familiar stuck out to me. In the corner of my view through the skylight, a green suit jacket bobbed into focus.

My head recoiled, eyes narrowing. Jason perked up at my reaction, glancing quickly between the glass and my face, unaware of whose presence i'd just detected. "What?" he asked me.

"Riddler's working with Syren."

"Shit- seriously?"

Jason turned to the glass indefinitely, adjusting to get a better view. If we could get The Riddler this time, if we could shut down this corner of Gotham, that would put a huge wrench in Syren's plans—whatever the hell they were.

But we had to play this right or we'd both end up dead. "Hey, see that guy other there?" I questioned, stabbing my finger into the glass. Jason nodded, and I continued, "He's the one with a gun. You take him out while I go for Riddler."

"Why the fuck would I let you take him on alone?" Jason's face wrinkled in an expression that said he thought I was crazy. He wasn't too far off.

Turning my head to see him straight on, I spoke with determination, "I've kicked his ass before—I know his habits, how he fights. And I didn't ask for permission, did I?"

He pursed his lips, sighing heavily through his nostrils. It was easy to tell he was not at all pleased with this plan of action, but I didn't care—I couldn't. With Bruce out of town, it fell on me to lead during a night out. This was up to me.

I was confident I could apprehend The Riddler on my own. I'd never done it alone in the past, but Jason didn't need to know that. No one did. So the first step was laying the smoke. Gas bombs were dropped through the skylight.

The white cloud seeped from them rapidly, and we followed its appearance like lightning follows thunder. A little dramatic, yes, but overall it was the same dynamic. Robin and Black Sparrow dropped through the skylight amongst the smoke.

As soon as my boots hit the ground, I was moving. I sent my bird-shaped batarangs at the goons in my vicinity, but my focus was on Riddler, who was quick to make for an escape the second the smoke appeared.

I dashed after him through the smoke while Robin handled his own mark. Riddler wasn't too far ahead of me, so I unholstered my grappling gun and aimed for his legs. The hook shot out from the short barrel and darted straight on.

It whizzed through the air, making a wide arc around The Riddler, before pulling tight. The wire tripped him, forcing him flat on his face on the concrete. I pulled out the two halves of my staff and connected them as I caught up to him.

I'd made it to a space a few inches from him when he rolled quickly onto his back and thrusted up his question mark shaped cane. It was easy to block it with my staff. The two solids clattered together, equal forces keeping them stalled.

Then Riddler kicked out his leg, shoving his heel into my middle, and I was thrust backward from the force. My feet stumbled backward rapidly before finally my tailbone hit the concrete. It gave the psychopath a chance to get up.

Just what we all needed. I groaned, but pushed myself to my feet, staff still in hand. "It's just the sidekicks tonight? Am I not good enough for the Bat anymore?" Riddler questioned, twirling his cane by the hook once.

"Just give me a riddle and pretend to be intimidating," I said. "This song and dance is getting real old."

"Say you'd never seek to lose me, while you live we cannot part, I must dwell lifelong inside you, locked within your beating heart. What am I?"

Normally, I'd answer easily. Riddles were always easy. But, even if I knew the answer to this one, I wouldn't be able to answer. A solid second after it was spoken, something hard hit the side of my head. The force from the hit alone caused me to stumble.

But the sudden dizziness of it tipped me over. I hit the concrete with a thud, the staff clattered out of my hand. There was only a small circle in the center of my vision that was not blurry and in it I saw droplets of red inches from my face.

Even in the disorientation of those seconds on the floor, I got it—blood. _While you live we cannot part, I must dwell lifelong inside you, locked within your beating heart._ It was blood.

Leave it to me to be more concerned with figuring out a riddle than what exactly hit me. Dick would be so furious. _Get up_ , I told myself. _Fight back_. It was instinctual to roll onto my back, pushing up on my elbows to get a better view.

And none other than the illusive Two Face stood just feet away from me. Harvey Dent. He wasn't always a bad guy. Bruce refused to talk about exactly what happened between them, but now Dent has half a face and a whole grudge against Batman.

This shit party just kept getting better.

I reached for my staff and grabbed it, before climbing to my feet, however unsteady it looked. Two Face was working with The Riddler. Somehow that was a thing. It had to be because of Steven Syren. And if Two Face and The Riddler were on his payroll, who else did he get?

For all we knew, half of Gotham's worst villains could be on their way. This was, after all, the worst fucking idea i'd ever had. The Riddler was on his way to the stairwell at the back of the building. I had to act fast—so I did.

My hand loosed more metal birds, and a flick of my wrist sent them at Two face, the flying birds enough cover for me to sprint for the stairwell. If all went as chastely planned, I would chase Riddler and Two Face would follow.

Thus keeping both of them my problem without letting Riddler get away. I reached the stairwell and took the metal stairs two at a time. Looking up as I sprinted, I could see the bright green suit up a floor from me at all times.

Stairs were not my friend—never have been—but I pushed through, making it to the door at the top the second after The Riddler did. I burst through the door to the rooftop.

A quick sweep of my eyes alerted me to the absence of green, or any means of escape, which could only be for one reason—diversion. I realized it too late, however quickly i'd come to the conclusion. A hard object, most likely the cane, hit hard against my lower back.

With a muffled cry I stumbled forward, clambering to my knees, then my dropping to my elbows from the force of gravity. Nothing could've prepared me for what happened next. I didn't quite understand the action—all I knew was the pain.

The hot, stark burn in my right shin that radiated up into my thigh and hip and at the sound of a loud crack. It felt like a hit, a pressure of some kind. But the second the pain settled in that was all I could feel. My eyes instantly watered, and I cried out.

No, not a cry—a scream. It was excruciating, the pain, yet still my instinct was to keep moving.

My fingertips digging into the concrete, my arms bore the weight of my lower half. The muscles in my arms were just as bruised as the ones in my legs. But it was impossible to move my right leg. Whatever injury had been caused left me no choice but to crawl.

So that's what I did. I pulled myself along, my suit scraping on the rough surface. The only thing that could stop me was a shoe. Solid tread pressed heavily on my knuckles seconds before I felt fingers gripping at my ponytail.

A hard tug yanked my head back almost fast enough to give me whiplash, and my only reaction could be an inaudible cry and a grimace. "Now, now...where do we think we're going, Princess?"

I stared up at the pale face of a madman, his rancid breath fanning against my face, and a sinking feeling reached my gut. _There was no getting out of this._ Jason was most likely dead or severely injured. And I was about to be both.

"Let's try this again," he said, psychotically smiling inches from my face. "What bird is always sad?"

My forehead creased as I fought desperately to stifle a cry of agony, I answered, "Blue Jay."

"Caw, caw, mother _fucker_!"

A boot slammed into the side of Riddler's head following a familiar voice. As Riddler was thrust aside, I was let go, and I dropped onto my arms on the dirty concrete. In lifting my head I saw the back of the Robin suit.

Jason was pounding his fists into what I assumed was The Riddler's face—i couldn't see well enough to know for sure, but it was the safest bet. "That's enough, Robin," I forced the words into normalcy, through gritted teeth. "He's down."

Of course, he didn't stop. Why would he listen to me? I was the bitch that got us into this mess. Exhaling heavily, I gripped the concrete to pull myself closer. I'd tugged myself a few inches closer, just close enough to reach out.

My gloved fingers gripped his cape and I gave it a hard pull. It was enough to yank him back a bit, and instead I grabbed onto his shoulder. "Jay, stop," I said, grimacing as a wave of pain rippled up my right side.

His chest was heaving, visibly itching to keep going, but he stopped—thankfully. Immediately his attention was turned to me instead. When he looked to me, my heart sank and raced at the same time. How that was possible, I didn't know.

But it was happening. The skin of his face was covered in bruises already forming and a few stray cuts. The black mask around his eyes was torn on the far left corner, red trailing down the side of his face from the tear. He was thoroughly beat to hell.

Yet there he was, still ready to fight. Something in him refused to give up—not until it was done.

Jason slid off the now unconscious Riddler and I pushed myself up onto my left knee, eliciting a deeper burn in my right leg. I hissed but refused to make any other reaction. "Fucking hell," he said, a little out of breath as he quickly looked me over. "You need a hospital."

I reached up, swiping at the line of blood slowly oozing from the tear in his mask, "What did he do to you?"

"I'm fine—focus. Let's get you out of here."

He didn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around my middle and standing up, pulling me up with him. I held onto him in a reactionary clutch. It was mostly to brace against the pain of moving my leg at all. Distant sirens wailed, the sound carrying up to the roof.

Police weren't too far out. They would be happy to receive Riddler in Arkham, maybe even Two Face if he was still around. Two big players forced out of Syren's cruel game.

We haphazardly made our way down to the ground floor of the building. To keep my mind off the pain, make it easier to keep going, we talked through the plan. There needed to be a good story behind my leg injury when I showed up at the ER.

The only thing that would explain me and Jason looking like hell would be some kind of robbery. Probably out in the city somewhere. We were just walking along and some guys jumped us. They would believe that, coming from two of Bruce Wayne's kids.

Well, I was Alfred's, but everyone associated me with Bruce anyway.

After getting out of the building, the sirens much louder than before, it was easy getting to the Cave from there. The stairs were ultimately the hardest part of the whole thing. I couldn't exactly go into a hospital looking like this.

But I couldn't fix either of us on my own if we stayed home. Alfred taught me a lot about patching people up, but this was too much for just me. That, and the pain itself was too much for me.

So Jason had to help me put on something inconspicuous before also putting on street clothes. It was awkward and embarrassing but I was too focused on the pain in my leg. My shin didn't look completely broken through by the tibia bone, though it did look right on the edge.

Either way, it was an obvious break. Jason drove us to the emergency entrance at Gotham General and helped me into the hospital. I'd clung to him so long that it wasn't instinctual to let go when the ER attendants rolled out a gurney.

That, and I was still disoriented. I hadn't seen clearly since Two face hit me to begin with. It was dizzying, on top of the sharp pain in my leg and ache in my lower back. "What happened?" a male nurse asked—one of the three helping me onto the gurney.

It was a reasonable question we'd already worked out how to answer. "We were walking down Halstead and some guys jumped us," Jason smoothly replied. "They ran off when I fought back, but they got her pretty good."

"Looks like a partial compound fracture," another nurse observed, once I was securely on the gurney.

I knew what that meant. Though, I was in a little too much pain to care. _Just fix me!_ I wanted to scream. _Just make it stop!_ Instead I only grimaced, squeezing my eyes shut against the sharp burning in the whole of my right leg.

The nurses were quickly accompanied by an ER Doc as they wheeled me to a segregated section of room with the proper equipment. I'd been to the ER once or twice in my lifetime, but I couldn't say it was ever for breaking a limb.

That was new. Can't say I liked it very much.

All the nurses and doctors involved were nice but direct—being polite while telling you how it was. I appreciated that when they told me they were going to need to set the bone. But, deep down, I was anxiously screaming.

Setting it would be about as painful as breaking it, however brief it was. I knew it needed to be done, but I dreaded it. Jason was near the end of the gurney with another nurse who was examining the gash by his left eye.

When the doctor said they were going to set the bone, all my anxiety and apprehension of any kind were on my face. I wouldn't need to look in a mirror to know that. It just happened. Anything I felt or thought had to be carefully suppressed.

And I was not in the mood to work for that right then. So, I didn't. The second I nodded quickly at the doctor's words, fingers gripping tight to the padded edges of the gurney, Jason swatted away the nurse working on him.

He slid behind the nurse to get to my side and he went straight for my hand, prying it from the edge of the gurney to grip his instead. "You can do this. I'm right here," Jason's voice was as sure as the expression on his face. "I'm not going anywhere."

I was surprised by the change, but incredibly relieved. It was a confidence boost to have a physical reassurance that I truly wasn't alone here. I never was.

The doctor, with aid of a nurse, set the bone. There was another cracking sound, though a little more muffled than the first time, and a following pulse of intense pain. I'd held tight to Jason's hand as I couldn't help but respond with a strangled cry.

It was so painful—more so than anything I'd felt in my life thus far. Again I squeezed my eyes closed, every line of my face pulled tight in agony, while the ER staff worked quickly to get my leg splinted and arms stuck with IVs.

In the chaos of the still blurred vision—made worse by pain-triggered tears staining my cheeks—and intense levels of pain, Jason put an arm around my shoulders and touched his forehead to my left temple. I could feel the tremble of his exhale—there were words in his actions.

 _I'm sorry_. I could read them easily, but they confused me. What did he have to be sorry for? He got his ass kicked and still came to save me when I needed him. Sorry I was experiencing pain? That made a little more sense, though I was still wary.

We didn't typically become emotional around each other, unless of course I was yelling at him. Not that I minded the other emotions. It was simply unfamiliar territory. The nurse from before urged Jason to let her stitch up the gash and examine any other wounds.

He tried to decline, "I said I'm fucking fine-"

"Jay, go," I forced out the interruption, bracing myself against the burning in my leg. He lifted his head and I opened my eyes to squint up at him. "I'll be okay—you need to get that looked at. Go."

I could tell he wanted to stay, a blind man could. Yet, however reluctantly, Jason sauntered off with the nurse to another area out of my sight. Honestly, I didn't want to be alone. There were doctors and nurses, but I wanted someone I knew.

But I couldn't let Jason stay when he obviously needed medical attention himself. The nurse finishing up with my IV was very sweet. "We're gonna take good care of you," she assured me, before flashing a warm smile. "You've passed the worst of it."

"That's good," I gave my best closed-mouthed smile—trying to be polite while also being in pain.

It was more difficult than it sounded. "Alright. We'll take you upstairs to a room and have you admitted," the doctor said, coming to my side. "Do you have a parent or guardian we can call before we do? We need some paperwork filled out."

"I'm twenty, I don't need one," I shook my head. "You can check my license."

The doctor nodded, "Let's get you upstairs."

She and the nurses pulled up the side railings and locked them in place before getting in position to start rolling me, but a thought came to mind just then. I quickly stopped the doctor when I spoke. "Wait- um, could you tell the guy I came in with where i'm going? He's family," I told her.

"Of course, we'll make sure he gets to your room—barring any admitable injuries," she agreed with another nod.

I sunk back against the gurney and thanked her, and then we were off to get me admitted. I'd only stayed in the hospital once and it wasn't for very long. Two nights at the most. But this was definitely going to take longer.

When I'd gotten settled in a room on the third floor, I worked on the necessary paperwork while the pain meds finally started taking the majority of pain away. The paperwork wasn't anything extravagant—just the typical insurance information and personal details.

After all, they needed to know who their patient was. And how they were getting paid. Those were the most important things. Although it did seem like they already knew just who I was, considering the room they'd put me in.

It was nice, too nice. A room all to myself on a higher floor. Somebody in the hospital knew. When i'd written down all the information, filled out all the empty fields, I grabbed my cell phone off the rolling bedside table.

Bruce needed to know what happened. He needed to know where we were. But I didn't want to tell him just yet. At least, subconsciously I didn't—because the first number I dialed was Dick's. I didn't think, just dialed. There wasn't certainty that he would answer after how our last call ended, thanks to me.

But I dialed his number and held the phone to my ear as it began to ring. Dick, to my surprise, answered fairly quickly regardless of the late hour. "Trish? Did something happen?" he immediately questioned, his voice groggy on the other end.

"Actually...this time something _did_ happen," I exhaled my reply. "I'm at Gotham General with a compound fracture and a mild concussion."

Dick's voice sped up in alarm, "Jesus Christ. Is Bruce there with you?"

"No, he's in California with some investors."

"Of course," he sighed heavily, taking a short pause before speaking again. "Look, i'll be there in twenty minutes, okay? You hang tight."

He'd ended the call before I could tell him not to bother. Soon Jason would be here and I wouldn't be alone anymore. I simply wanted to tell Dick what happened and maybe vent a little. I didn't mean to send out the Retired Robins Signal.

But it would be nice to see him in person after going so long with him being out of the manor. Sighing, I locked my phone and slid it back onto the rolling table. A short series of knocks suddenly drew my eyes to the open door of the room.

Jason took steps inside, a smirk hanging loose on his lips. "Nice place you got here," he commented, sarcastically. "Mind if I crash for a bit?"

"Knock yourself out."

I didn't think how that would sound until I'd said it. Given the nature of our night, it was a little insensitive. But Jason only chuckled a little as he made his way across the room to my bed. He dropped onto the side of it, just left of my knee.

When he did, I could see the freshly stitched and bandaged wound by his left eye. Any skin touched by the blood once oozing out of it was now tinged a light but noticeable pink. The bruising on his face was really starting to come in, leaving purple marks just about everywhere.

It was gruesome. I forced myself to swallow, my eyes examining the damage from afar. "How many stitches you get?" I inquired, trying to keep my tone light as I jutted my chin a little.

"Six," Jason shrugged.

My eyebrows mindlessly rose, "Shit, really?"

"Eh, it's nothing. You should see the other guy."

I laughed a little at his words—mostly at the irony in them. His lips smiled but his eyes retained the smirk. The bruises not only literally colored his face, but they added a shadow, a shade that changed everything about how he looked.

My heart couldn't help but cringe. Inhaling sharply, I briefly glanced at my hands in my lap before changing the topic of conversation just slightly, using it as a segway.

"You know, I saw this night going a lot differently," I started, my eyes shifting up to meet his. "But, if it had to go wrong, i'm really glad it was with you. You…you didn't let me down. Hell, you saved my life."

Jason made a small scoffing sound, glancing off to the right somewhere, "I was just returning the favor. Any other night, you would've had _both_ their asses."

"I also wanted to apologize."

Those words of mine brought—however genuine—his eyes rolling back to mine in a straight line of curiosity and confusion. He'd cocked his head like an intrigued canine. "What for?" he questioned.

"Well, aside from nearly getting you killed tonight, I've been a bitch—put simply," I answered, locking and unlocking my fingers in my lap to keep myself on track. "I put a lot of my grudges and hard feelings on you, and that was wrong. I don't hate you. Never have, to be honest. You annoy the _crap_ out of me sometimes...but, I do like you."

"Like... _like me_ , like me?"

He was smirking again, wiggling his eyebrows a couple of times. This would be a perfect moment to say something bitter and cold, insult him, or say I regretted saying anything at all. But I didn't do any of those things, and I really didn't mind the outcome.

Instead, I laughed and leaned forward an inch to reach far enough. My fingers gripped the open fronts of his jacket and gently tugged. It was a questioning pull that left the answer up to him. And his answer was clear in how he leaned into it, scooting much closer on the bed.

Closing the gap allowed me to better see the bruises, the small bandaging by his eye. My right hand slid carefully onto his cheek as we were eye to eye, inches apart, and my thumb brushed over a splotch of blistering purple.

"It doesn't hurt," he whispered, reassuringly. "They gave me some drugs."

"Oh, so you're high?" I smiled a little.

He shook his head, "No—I haven't kissed you yet."

The very mention of the action caused a nervous roll to my stomach, memories of last night covering the forefront of my mind, but the look in his eyes is what sent bumps up and down my bare arms.

Jason tipped his head, touching his forehead to mine. I leaned into him, breathing him in, letting my eyes close as his hands came to rest just above my hips with a gentle grip. There was an air of calm between us. This time, it wasn't rushed.

It was heated, but it wasn't short of passion. I could feel it—his slow lean in, the shift of his face against mine to bring his lips closer. So, slowly, I lifted my chin until we touched. Our lips met, fitting together openly.

My other hand found its way to his left cheek, both hands now holding his face, and the touch of his skin only elevated the sensually slow connection. For a moment I was able to forget. Forget where we were, forget the pain i'd felt. Forget _everything_.

All I knew was how it made me feel. My lungs were empty but I barely noticed. Thank God for my rib cage, or my heart would've leapt out onto the tile floor by now. Everything about the way he kissed me was magical. It made me feel special, like I was the only one being kissed like this.

Despite the damage done to it, my body burned with desire for more. It yearned for him. Only him. There was a quick knock on the door before a voice interrupted the moment fully. "Hey, Trish-" A voice I immediately recognized as Dick's said. "Uh, sorry...didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Jason twisted swiftly to see the new guest, though I didn't need to in order to know his identity. It was already evident. "The fuck are you?" Jason questioned. I leaned back into the pillows propping me up with a small sigh.

"He's a friend. I called him," I told Jason, causing him to face me again. "Can you give us a second?"

The general expression of his features was unsatisfied, but still he nodded in agreement. Dick came to stand at the end of the bed as Jason slid off the side to stand up. "I'll call Daya, let her know what happened," Jason said, walking to the door.

"Thanks, Jay."

I smiled a little as he stopped at the exit, turning to look back at me. His lips were a loose smile-smirk, and he winked briefly before fully leaving the room. Dick slid his hands into his pockets with an exhale. "He a friend of yours?" he asked, dryly sarcastic.

Nodding, I gestured a hand at the side of the bed Jason previously occupied. "Something like that," I answered. "You didn't have to come all the way here."

Dick stepped around the end of the bed while I spoke, lowering himself onto the edge beside me as he replied, "Yeah, I did. What happened out there?"

"Bruce and I have been keeping tabs on a major player for months, and I saw my chance to get ahead of the game—so I took it. But apparently The Riddler and Two Face are chums now-"

"God dammit, Trish," Dick bent to rest his forearms on his knees while interweaving his fingers. "What were you thinking? You're smarter than that."

"I know. I messed up. Kinda got that from the break in my leg."

He exhaled heavily, "Look, i'm sorry, I just...you scare the shit out of me, Trish. Does Bruce even know what happened?"

A pulse of shock and dread shot through me at the sound of a third male voice, answering the question before I could think to. "Yes, he does," the voice said. It was Bruce. Again I knew who it was before looking—i'd spent too long living with him not to recognize it.

Dick sat up, twisting to look in the direction of the door in a small startle, and I tipped my head to see around the other side of him. Bruce and Alfred had just entered the room. Alfred rushed to the side of my bed, opposite from Dick.

"My dear, Patricia, why did you not call us?" he questioned, voice coated in worry and frustration. "If Wayne Enterprises didn't donate a substantial amount of money to this hospital, we'd only just be getting on a plane! You're very lucky i'm well too concerned to reprimand you harshly for this."

Halfway through his long-winded speech, he'd wrapped his arms tightly around me, and I eagerly reciprocated the embrace. I exhaled, the right side of my face against the front of his arm from the slightly odd angle, "I'm sorry, dad."

"I just got here. I assumed she already called you, or else I would've," Dick spoke up, standing up from the bed. He turned to face Alfred and I only, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

"Of course I can count on _you_ to be the responsible one, Master Grayson," Alfred pulled away from me with a light sigh.

"I would've called, really, but I was in the ER getting my leg bent to hell until about a half hour ago," I said, glancing up at Bruce, who stood at the end of the hospital bed. "The pain meds have only been working for fifteen minutes."

Bruce nodded a little, "That's understandable. But what's not, is you taking on The Riddler without backup. Whether you knew Dent was there or not is beside the point—you shouldn't have gone in."

"Well, at least you don't have to ground me yourself. I'll be in the house for a long time," I dryly quipped.

There was a brief moment of silence where it seemed like no one knew what to say—or no one wanted to talk. Dick's eyes shifted over the room before he inhaled, sidestepping close enough to reach out for my shoulder.

The action brought my eyes up to meet his questioningly, curiously. "Look, I should let you guys hash this out. I'm only one call away, okay? Always," he told me, making his exit announcement.

It was a bit disappointing, but I understood. You could see it in his eyes. He didn't want to be in this room with Bruce any longer than he really had to be. I nodded, but I reached up to grip his shoulders, pulling him down to my level whether he planned on it or not.

His arms went around my middle gently as I clung to him in a tight hug. It, like the moment of silence, was brief. When he pulled away, he kissed the top of my head before departing completely. He jutted his chin in an acknowledgment to Alfred and then left the room with downcast eyes.

My eyes followed him through the door, something deep inside wishing I could go, too. Just after he passed under the door frame, Jason reentered the room, sliding his phone into his back pocket. "Called Daya, told her what happened," he said. "She's gonna come by first thing tomorrow."

I gave a small exhale of relief, "Okay, good. Thank you."

"Dear lord," Alfred looked horrified by Jason's bruises.

"Don't worry, man—I won," Jason assured him, in his usual cockiness as he came to stand at the bedside once again. I couldn't help the sigh that escaped me as I pinched the bridge of my nose. His response was characteristic, but facepalm-able.

Bruce continued on in spite of the comment, before Alfred could correct the improper address—like I knew he was going to. "The Riddler and Two face will be back in Arkham by the morning," Bruce said. "With the story being some kind of assault, Gotham PD will want to speak with you two as well."

"Why haven't they already?" I questioned, a bit confused now that it came to mind.

"The Commissioner has agreed to get your statement tomorrow. I told him you were too shaken up by the ordeal to retell it just yet."

Jason made a small sound of annoyance, dropping onto the edge of the hospital bed to face Bruce. I gave Jason's shoulder a small push from behind, "Hey, he's not lying. I'm not up for small talk with a cop right now."

"For now, it's best that you get as much rest as you can," Bruce said, looking straight at me. "Alfred and I can stay with you, or we can go and come back in the morning. Whichever you prefer."

I hadn't expected him to leave it all up to me. Part of me hoped he would stubbornly stay no matter what I decided. Something to show he still cared that much. But he didn't. "Oh, that's okay. You guys should go home. I'll be fine here," I waved the idea away.

It was then that Jason leaned back, against part of my shoulder and the pillows behind me, and propped his feet up on the bed. "I'll stay with her," he said, weaving his fingers together over his stomach. My eyes instinctively fell to his face, and he craned his neck to look up at me.

A small smile bent the corners of his lips. I knew if I looked any longer, I would be smiling, too. So I moved my eyes back up to Bruce and Alfred in a swift motion. Bruce wore a questioning expression, an understandable question— _are you comfortable with that?_

Part of me expected him to outright say no and take Jason by the ear out the door. He was just full of surprises tonight. "I'll send him home when he gets annoying," I told Bruce, with a dry expression meant to say that it wouldn't take long.

Despite popular belief, the Bat wasn't the world's greatest detective. There were many things i'd hidden from him that he didn't know about to this day. When I kept up the act of annoyance, Bruce didn't seem to second guess it.

Though, I could tell there was a part of him that wondered why I would be okay with Jason staying at all. Thankfully he didn't make it a topic of conversation. Bruce told me to get rest and headed for the door. Alfred, however, hugged me again.

"If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to call," he instructed me with a serious tone. He placed a kiss against my temple as he pulled away. Then, standing straight, he looked to Jason, "I expect _you_ to call if she does not."

"I gotcha, man," Jason held up a thumb.

I turned my head to look down at him, reaching out a hand to push away his thumb gesture. He swatted me away with a humored expression. A combination of the angles the lines of his face made and the pain killers in my veins forced the corners of my lips upward in a huff of air.

Alfred walked to the door. He stopped there and turned to say goodbye again, but I hadn't noticed at first. I only looked up when he gently cleared his throat. The expression on his face was pleased, despite the ghost of concern still lingering.

"Get some rest," he said. "I love you, my dear Patricia."

"I love you, too, dad," I smiled at him.

He returned the smile before leaving the room completely. The second he was gone, Jason pushed himself up against the pillows, readjusting his position to move off my shoulder. "You heard the man—gotta get some sleep," he said, crossing his legs at the ankles to keep them on the bed.

The state of my leg made it a bit awkward. Any way I wanted to sleep wouldn't be available—only sleeping on my back. I never like that position. So, instead, I forced my body to sink down just an inch and dropped my head on Jason's shoulder as I settled against the pillows.

My fingers tugged the blanket up, covering the majority of my right side. "You should sleep, too," I said to Jason, exhaling. I could feel his body tilt as he readjusted, slanting to give my head a little more shoulder space.

"Just worry about yourself, Pennyworth," Jason quietly replied. His hand found mine atop the blanket and he slid his fingers in with mine, as he moved both hands to rest on his thigh. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
